


Gut Feeling

by Chubstilinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Human, Awkward Flirting, Baker Stiles Stilinski, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Chubby Derek, Chubby Kink, Chubby Stiles, Deputy Derek, Embarrassment, Feeding, Food Kink, Food Porn, Food Sex, Hand Feeding, Humiliation, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Weight Gain, Pining, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Stiles has a bit of a numbers kink, Stuffing, Teasing, They're both oblivious losers I'm sorry, Weight Gain, tight clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8424085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chubstilinski/pseuds/Chubstilinski
Summary: Stiles was maybe, possibly, mildly obsessed with his favorite regular, Deputy Derek Hale. But in his defense, Derek seemed just as obsessed with Stiles. Or at least, Stiles’s baked goods, if his appetite for sweets and increasing waistline were anything to go by.





	1. No One Trusts a Skinny Baker

**Author's Note:**

> So this is kind of my love letter to tropey bakery AUs with a feedist twist! 
> 
> Lots of thanks to my beta [@yaaaasshole](http://www.yaaaasshole.tumblr.com) and big (fat) hugs for my other beta slash love of my life [donutwolf](http://archiveofourown.org/users/donutwolf/pseuds/donutwolf) / [@chubzombie](http://www.chubzombie.tumblr.com). This zombie put up with a lot of whining on my part the last couple of months and helped make this fic sooo much better lol
> 
> Chapter 2 should be up in a week or so! I hope you all enjoy ❤️

Stiles watched the door shut behind Deputy Derek Hale’s perfect, plump ass. He counted to three before he buried his face in his arms on the countertop and moaned, “Oh my god.”

“Dude.” Stiles could hear the wince in Scott’s voice.

“I _know_ , _shut up_.”

“Is that what it’s always like when he comes in here?” Lydia asked, disgustedly.

Stiles lifted his head up. “Not always. Sometimes my friends aren’t here to _totally humiliate me_.”

“You really didn’t need any help, there,” Malia said in passing, as she dropped off a tray of perfectly frosted sugar cookies on the counter.

“And yet?!” Stiles stood back up, gesticulating wildly. “‘Stiles talks about you all the time’?! _All the time_?! He probably thinks I’m like, obsessed with him, now.”

“Are you… not?” Scott asked, confused frown on his face.

“Of _course_ I am, but he didn’t need to _know_ that, dude!”

Lydia stood up from the chair of her favorite table and said, “I have never seen two people so inept at flirting in my entire life”

“That is not help--Wait. Two people? Was he flirting with me? You have to tell me.”

“Do you want my honest opinion?”

“ _Yes_!”

“You are _completely_ inept at flirting.”

Stiles groaned. Lydia threw her hair over one shoulder and said, “Calm down. I can’t tell if he’s interested, yet. I’ll need more empirical evidence before I can give you a definite answer.”

“Oh come on, Lyds. I didn’t suffer through this humiliating experience for nothing.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. I have to go meet Allison. Try not to dwell on your embarrassing boy crush.”

She strode out the door and Stiles groaned, again, but more emphatically this time. “Anyone else care to weigh in?”

Scott giggled. “ _Weigh in_.”

“What?” Kira asked, confused. Malia’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and Stiles never regretted his inability to hide anything from Scott McCall more than he did in that moment.

“Oh my god, dude. Nothing! Get back to work, everyone, we’ve got a bakery to run, here!”

Malia sighed, but dragged Kira back to the kitchen. Stiles punched Scott in the arm. “Malia is my new favorite.”

“Sorry, dude.” Scott pouted, giving him puppy eyes that he _knew_ Stiles couldn’t stay mad at, that _asshole_.

“I forgive you, but only because that pun was irresistible.”

Scott grinned, proudly. “I know, right?”

 

***

 

The next time Deputy Derek came into the bakery, Stiles was, thankfully, alone. More or less. Scott was in the back baking and it was after the morning rush, so Stiles was manning the counter by himself. When Derek came in, he smiled, and Stiles tried to smile back in a way that didn’t come off as too eager, but with a view filled with the gloriousness that was Derek Hale in his tight (so tight, how is that _allowed_ ) deputy’s uniform and his rounded, smiling face, he was pretty sure he didn’t succeed. Like, at all.

“Hey, Deputy.”

“Morning, Stiles.” He took off his stupid attractive aviator sunglasses and hooked them in the vee of his collar, where Stiles caught a little glimpse of chest hair. Derek looked over the pastries in the display and said, “Got anything special for me today?”

 _My dick_ , Stiles’s brain supplied, unhelpfully. “When have I ever let you down, man? I hope you’re hungry, because I have a _lot_ of new flavors for you to try.”

Stiles busied himself preparing a big box and grabbing a few pieces of wax paper.

“Oh no.”

Stiles huffed, indignantly. “I think you mean, oh yes, thank you, Stiles.”

“Well, I’m sure my tastebuds will be thanking you, but my waistline…”

Stiles couldn’t be blamed for the way his eyes were drawn to where Derek’s fingers were absently tracing the roll of pudge protruding over his belt. Stiles felt hot, suddenly, and pulled his collar away from his neck.

“Hey, it’s your fault for coming in here, buddy. I’m just the enabler.”

Derek rolled his eyes and rested his hand on the gun holster at his waist. “Okay, okay. What’d’ya got?”

“Let’s see…” Stiles scanned the donut display. “Ah. Bacon maple.”

“Sold.”

Stiles laughed and added a couple to the box, alongside four of Derek’s favorite: chocolate fudge filled donuts with peanut butter icing. They were long past the point where Derek needed to ask for them.

“Uh. A couple more of those?”

Stiles raised his eyebrows and cut a look at Derek, who shrugged and glanced away.

“Boys at the station are always complaining I eat all the good ones before they even get there.”

Stiles’s stomach swooped and he bit his lip. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, um. Actually, I was thinking of picking up two dozen, today. You know, get them off my back.”

“Absolutely,” Stiles swallowed hard. He ducked down behind the display to hide his face. “So, uh, the new ones are raspberry jelly, tiramisu, cinnamon swirl, and banana nut.”

“Okay, I’ll take two of each.”

Stiles packed the donuts away neatly and tried to regain composure before looking at Derek again. The donuts were _probably_ mostly for the department, but Stiles couldn’t help but think that it was maybe a _little_ bit so Derek could pig out on his favorite donuts more freely. He entertained a brief fantasy where the second box was _all_ for Derek.

“Eight more,” Stiles said, voice a little strangled.

“Um… Two glazed sour creams, two boston cremes, two jelly, and… two powdered.”

Stiles packed away the donuts as Derek chose. “Sure you don’t wanna make it three dozen? I don’t want my favorite customer to miss out on the best donuts Beacon Hills has to offer and then suffer, hungry and donutless all day. Tragic fate; I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

Derek shook his head, smirking amusedly. “I think two will be fine.”

“All right,” Stiles sing-songed. “But I’m gonna give you a little something extra. On the house. Take it home, let me know how it is. It’s a work in progress. Don’t be afraid to offer constructive criticism, okay, Derek? I can handle it.”

Stiles’s heart beat fast as he padded over to the display fridge to pull out a special package. He’d been working on this pie for two months. It was everything Derek loved in a dessert, and Stiles would know; he payed attention.

He’d been supplying the guy donuts and cupcakes and cookies pretty much since the inception of Petit Four Bakery. After the grand opening, Derek had periodically dropped by and stared balefully at the window display, before finally caving about a week later. Stiles spent the same amount of time staring longingly at the hot, muscly cop who looked like he desperately needed a few dozen cupcakes that Stiles would helpfully provide if he’d just _fucking come in already_.

Which led Stiles to this pie. He’d already wrapped it carefully and labeled it _Derek Hale_ in case any of the other deputies decided they wanted to steal a slice. Even if the donuts weren’t, that pie _was_ all for Derek, and Stiles wanted him to eat every bite. It was a decadent, calorie-laden peanut butter-chocolate-caramel masterpiece that Stiles had yet to name, but when he did he was pretty sure it would have death in the title, because this pie could _kill_ you with how delicious it was.

Stiles might have slightly exaggerated. He didn’t _really_ need Derek’s input--he knew without a doubt that it was incredible and would sell out faster than he could make it. Stiles just wanted Derek to tell him in as much gory detail as Stiles could squeeze out of him how amazing it was and how he couldn’t stop eating it and how it was going to make him huge and he’d take ‘10 more immediately, thank you, Stiles, and maybe you’d like to feed them to me?’

“Stiles? You okay?”

He snapped his head up, startled. “Huh?”

“You sort of… zoned out for a bit, there.”

“Oh, yeah, no, I’m fine. I was just. Thinking. Um. Here.” Stiles held out the package, now acutely aware of the heat on his face.

Derek’s lips twitched in a half-smile and he took the box in his hands, held it up to take a whiff and said, “Smells great.”

Stiles fought the grin off his face with everything he had. “You want anything else? Coffee? Slice of cheesecake? Apple turnover?”

“You’re a hell of a salesman, Stiles.”

“Thank you. I’m gonna take that as yes. All of the above?”

Derek laughed. “Just a coffee. Iced.”

“Extra sugar?”

“Yes.”

“Cream?”

“Yes.”

“Whip?”

“Uh, yes.” Derek’s hand came up to rub at the back of his neck.

“Syrup?”

“Caramel.”

“Sure thing,” Stiles said, with a wink. He did a little victory dance inside whenever Derek gave in and ordered his coffee exactly how Stiles knew he really liked it--chock full of sugar and fat and deliciousness.

When it was done, he plopped it on the counter next to the pile of goodies and gave Derek a winning smile. “All right, two dozen assorted donuts, iced coffee, extra sugar, cream, whip, and caramel syrup, chocolate peanut butter caramel pie on the house. That’ll be $28.53.”

Derek sighed deeply and pulled out his credit card. “Jeez. Sounds like a lot when you say it like that. You trying to make me fat, Stiles?”

Stiles choked on air and turned it into a weird, obvious cough. Derek patted his shoulder, looking a little concerned, and when Stiles looked up, their faces were really freaking close and he couldn’t deal. He pulled back and ran Derek’s card. “I’m fine. Really, very fine. So… fine.”

Derek didn’t look convinced, but he stepped back and the rest of the transaction took place in a vaguely awkward silence until Derek signed the receipt and Stiles asked, “Do you want a bag?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Derek lifted up the boxes and balanced his coffee on top.

That would be a disaster waiting to happen in Stiles’s hands, but Derek was unnaturally graceful and athletic and muscular and big and soft and…

“Ah, let me get the door for you.”

Stiles hopped over the counter and only tripped a _little_ before sliding in front of Derek and yanking the door open.

“Thanks,” Derek said, holding back a smile.

“Enjoy the pie, Derek.”

The door closed with a jangling of bells and Stiles turned back immediately to avoid watching Derek’s ass as he walked away. Stiles wiped his sweaty palms on his apron and stepped back behind the counter.

Scott’s head popped out of the kitchen and he said, “Well, that was way less embarrassing than last time!”

Stiles shoved his face away.

 

***

 

If someone (besides Scott) were to find out about Stiles’s... inclinations, they’d probably think that Stiles opened a bakery with the intention, or at least the fantasy, of fattening people up. Really the baking thing had almost fallen into his lap.

It was something they were all pretty good at. Scott had taken a couple of culinary electives in college with encouragement from his new friend Kira, who went to the local culinary school. Stiles, for his part, worked part-time at a grocery store bakery all the way through college. Malia had majored in business with no idea what she would do with the degree.

They’d basically inherited the little storefront their bakery sat in now. It had been empty for a couple of years--owned by Malia’s family and abandoned once her great aunt died. No one knew how or even wanted to run a clock shop. It was a dying business, anyway, but they held on to the property.

Once the four of them were out of college and failing to figure out their lives, Malia brought up the shop. They spent a while debating what type of store they should open, half-joking, but when Kira suggested a bakery, something clicked, immediately. They spent the whole summer and a couple of months into fall renovating the space with what little money they had. And what they didn’t have, they took loans on.

It was a risk, but with no competition and a fairly decent location, the bakery had become a local favorite. They weren’t _quite_ in the profit margin yet, but they were getting there. It was progress. _Great_ progress, as far as these things went.

Stiles had fantasized extensively about all the free sweets he’d get owning his own bakery, and he wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t packing on the pounds himself being his own taste-tester. But he hadn't fully appreciated the opportunities he’d have to fatten people up until Derek walked into his life.

He felt a little weird about it, sometimes, but he wasn’t giving Derek anything he didn’t want, he just. Gave him a little nudge now and again. Because _seriously_ ? The guy was smokin’ hot and _really_ liked Stiles’s baking, and how was he supposed to resist that? It was like something straight out of his wildest fantasies. So who could blame Stiles for making sure Derek had every sweet treat he could possibly want and more?

 

***

 

Derek _loved_ the pie. He came in at least twice a week specifically for one of Stiles’s Chocolate Caramel Peanut Butter Death Swirl Pies, and between those and the donuts and whatever else Stiles managed to convince him to buy, Derek was plumping up faster than Stiles had ever dreamed.

Once, Derek came in after a shift, stuffing the last of a donut into his mouth and licking icing off his fingers. He walked with a slight waddle to his gait and the buttons on his shirt strained enough to where Stiles was sure that if he sat down, little strips of skin would show in between every one. Stiles was ringing up another customer distractedly and had to stop himself staring alternately at Derek’s swollen little belly and the bit of pink icing left in the corner of his mouth. When she left, Derek stepped up to the counter, close enough so his belly was resting on the edge, close enough to touch.

“What can I do for you, Deputy?” Stiles asked, breathlessly. “Coffee? It’s pumpkin spice time, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

Derek smiled. “Pie, actually. But coffee sounds good, too.”

“Well you're in luck, dude. I think I have one Death Pie left.” Without thinking, Stiles added, “Wait. Already? Didn’t you just buy one yesterday?”

A slight flush rose to Derek’s cheeks and Stiles felt heat burn through him. Derek probably didn’t eat it all _himself_ and _still_ want another one. That would be so… gluttonous. He probably wanted it for a dinner party or--

“Yeah, well. I might be a little addicted to that pie. It’s amazing.”

“Thanks. So you,” Stiles swallowed, feeling a little faint, “you ate that whole thing in one day?”

Derek grimaced and looked away. “One sitting actually. I know, I should cut back and all, but it’s so nice to come home after a long day and eat something so good.”

“Yeah. No, no, you don’t need to cut back, wow, that’s.” Stiles smiled shakily. “I knew there was a reason you were my favorite customer.”

Stiles couldn’t be blamed for getting a boner, okay? It was _not_ his fault. He could feel his breathing get a little shallow and he tried to calm it down and he tried not to stare at Derek’s gut. Stiles stepped closer to the counter to hide his dick and looked at Derek’s face. No, that was no good. His cheeks were rosy and full and scruffy and oh--he was forming a little double chin that Stiles could see when he looked down. Not helping. His broad shoulders and his arms, where the short sleeves of his shirt cut into his chunky biceps--

“Yeah, I must be real good for business,” Derek said, like a self-deprecating half-joke.

“No. I mean, yeah, but, uh. It’s nice to see someone enjoy my food, is all.”

“Yeah? Maybe you should cook for me more often, then.”

Stiles’s heart lept into his throat and his eyes went wide and for a few precious seconds Stiles thought Derek was flirting with him, _really_ flirting with him. Definitively, no take backs. But Derek was hasty to add, “No, sorry, that came out wrong. Not like that, I just meant--”

“Oh. Ha ha, yeah.” Stiles tried to crush his disappointment. “No, I get it.”

Derek scratched at the back of his neck. “Yeah... I mean, I can boil pasta and stuff, but cooking has never really been my thing.”

And although Stiles’s heart had plummeted into his stomach dejectedly, he was never one to pass up an opportunity. “Well, if you’re, you know, interested. I was gonna have a few friends over for drinks and food on Friday? It’s gonna be getting cooler soon, so it might be the last opportunity for a good outdoor barbecue. I hear I’m pretty skilled in the art of the grill.”

Derek gave him a shy little smile and Stiles hated how tingly it made him. “Sure. That sounds nice.”

“Cool.” Stiles took a couple of steps back, probably grinning like an idiot as he threw his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll just… get your pie.”

Once the pie and the sugary sweet pumpkin spice latte with extra whip and caramel syrup were rung up, Stiles said, “So, you should give me your number. You know, for the. Details. For the thing…?”

Derek smirked at him and slid his phone out of his tight pants pocket. Stiles did the same, only barely managing to keep his nervous hands from dropping it onto the tile floor. He unlocked it, sneaking glances at Derek while he got to the contact screen. When they traded phones their fingers brushed and Stiles felt like swooning a little.

Derek smelled really good. Derek was giving Stiles his phone number. Derek was _coming to his barbecue,_ oh my god.

He put himself into Derek’s phone as “Hot Baker Stiles,” followed by the fire and donut emojis. It made Derek laugh, which made Stiles’s insides do a vaguely nauseating tango. He needed help.

Stiles took his phone back and cradled it in his hand. “I’ll, uh, text you the address.”

“Okay.” Derek went to leave and then stopped in the open doorway. “Oh and Stiles?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“I’m a _big_ fan of barbecue. Make plenty.” Derek slid his sunglasses back on to walk into the bright orange light of the sunset.

“Holy fuck.” Stiles said to the empty shop.

Suddenly Stiles was shoved into the counter and he shrieked as he lost his balance. He turned around rubbing his bruised shoulder to glare at a grinning Malia. “Ow.”

“Sorry, but, shit, way to go, Stiles!” She held up a hand and he slapped it, feeling the smile stretch across his own face. “I thought you’d _never_ ask him out.”

“I didn’t ask him out, I just invited him to a--a friend thing. As friends.”

“Still! He said yes, that’s awesome. He totally wants to have weird food sex with you.”

Stiles nearly choked on his tongue.

 

***

 

Sometimes Stiles dropped by the station to say hi to his pops, maybe bring him a healthy lunch or vegan cookies (Stiles was a hypocrite, he knew that) and play catch up with the department. He admittedly used to harass them about the cases they were working on and wreak havoc when he was a kid, but they loved him really.

But the highlight of seeing his dad at work now became seeing _Derek_ at work. Stiles’s crush was embarrassing, honestly, but it didn’t stop him from admiring Derek from across the room. It was two days after Stiles had asked him to hang out, and they’d texted a couple times, nothing major. But Stiles was feeling giddy and anxious and was trying to tamp down on the urge to bother him too much. He could be cool. He was cool. The _coolest_.

“Son,” his dad said, startling him out of ogling Derek’s gorgeous little muffin top while he ate a chocolate iced donut.

“‘Sup, daddy-o?”

“Were you even listening, or were you too busy staring at my deputy?”

“No, uh, I was just--” Stiles sputtered. But he saw his opening when Deputy Boyd left the station and Derek alone by the coffee and donut table. “I was just thinking about getting a donut, I’ll be right back, dad, hold that thought.”

Stiles bolted out of his seat before his dad could get a word in, and sidled up next to Derek. “Hey.”

He pretended to scope out the spread, not really intending to pick anything up, but then… Well, his donuts were really good, okay? And who could blame him for stealing one, even if it was his fifth since this morning? He resolutely ignored the pinch of his jeans against the flesh on his hips, swiped up a coconut cream donut and took a huge bite. “Mmm.”

“I know the guy who makes these, he’s very good.” Derek smirked and leaned his ass against the edge of the table, picking up a powdered donut.

“Oh yeah?” Stiles said, mouth still slightly full.

“Incredible.”

Stiles swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “Uh.”

“The donuts, I mean. The donuts are incredible.”

Derek looked away and scratched at his beard, and Stiles’s heart was beating out of his chest. The tips of his ears looked a little red and Stiles kind of wanted to bite them.

“You think so, huh? I have it on good authority you’re pretty addicted.” Stiles shoved some donut into his mouth and Derek raised his eyebrows, gave him a look up and down. “Okay, okay, I’m one to talk, I know.” He patted his new little belly. “Hazard of the job, I guess.”

Derek licked his lips to chase the powdered sugar. “Well I’m right there with you. Falling victim to the cop cliche, and it’s all your fault.”

Stiles’s eyes traced the curve of Derek’s gut wrapped in his ridiculously tight uniform, and he wondered if Derek was planning on sizing up anytime soon or if he would wait until the buttons popped off under the strain. He cleared his throat.

“Donuts are a staple of the cop diet, and I’m happy to provide. It’s like a community service.”

“Or maybe you’re a secret criminal and you’re just trying to keep me lazy and fatten me up so I can’t catch you.”

The conversation was giving Stiles heart palpitations. “I don’t think that would work if I’m in the same boat as you,” he said, before licking the last of his donut from his fingers.

Derek watched his mouth as he did and Stiles tried not to squirm. “Business strategy.”

“Huh?”

“Uh,” Derek said, brushing his hand against the back of his neck. “You know. Cause no one trusts a skinny baker.”

Stiles barked out a laugh. “Whoa, dude. You calling me fat? I think I’m doing pretty good for surviving mainly on pastry.”

Derek raked his eyes over him again and Stiles resisted the urge to suck in and puff out his chest. “Well, you’re not exactly skinny.”

Stiles gestured between their stomachs and smirked. “Pot, kettle.”

“I think I’m a little ahead of you, actually. But the point still stands,” Derek said, eyes glinting.

“Maybe a little,” Stiles sighed, fingers itching to measure just how much fatter Derek was than he was. Whatever Derek said, it had to be a _lot_ . All that pastry and pie and sugar was really fattening him up. _Stiles_ was really fattening him up.

He was sweating. Was it hot in here? He needed something to do with his hands. He needed to stop staring at Derek like a total creep. He picked up another donut without looking at it and took a bite.

Just then Tara called Derek over to her desk to look at something. He said, “Sorry, I gotta--see you Friday?”

“Mmf,” Stiles mumbled through a dry, crumbly mouthful of donut, nodding.

Derek smiled and walked over to Tara’s desk. He stopped once to look back at him and Stiles was going to choke. He needed something to drink. Seriously, was it just his nerves, or was the donut really that dry? If he didn’t know any better he’d say it wasn’t even one of his.

Inseparable, _insufferable_ partners, Lahey and Reyes were giving Stiles twin knowing looks complete with matching grins, and Stiles turned back towards the table, feeling strangely caught. He started to fumble with the coffee machine, put his donut down on a napkin, and that’s when he noticed: the donuts _weren’t_ his. Well, there were three boxes and only one of them was. The second donut he’d picked up was from a different box--grocery store made. That explained it.

But the gears started whirring in his brain, and as he made himself a cup of coffee, Stiles remembered that Derek had come into the bakery that morning for two dozen donuts, not one. He guessed it was possible that they’d gone through one already, but it was unlikely. As he threw away his napkin, he checked out the trash and there was no empty Petit Four Bakery box to be seen.

He spent the rest of his lunch with his dad thinking about Derek ordering all those donuts all for himself. It seemed more plausible now, now that he knew Derek would go home and pig out on an entire, rich chocolate peanut butter pie in one sitting. So alongside that, what was a dozen donuts he’d bought pretending they were for his co-workers?

Stiles felt on edge, almost enough to make him want to take a little extra time for lunch to go home and jerk off. Dazedly, he walked back to his car. He passed the cruisers on the way and felt like a creep for knowing Derek’s was the one with the scratched bumper. Then he got an idea. He looked around, stealthily, and peered into the car.

There, on the passenger’s seat was the missing box of donuts. Derek _did_ keep those for himself, that _glutton_.

Yeah, Stiles was definitely going to take an extended lunch break, he thought, as he hobbled to his Jeep.

 

***

 

Stiles lived in a tiny little rental house just a few blocks away from work. It was nice, and homey, had just enough space, and a little backyard. Sometimes, though, he regretted not fighting Kira and Malia harder for the apartment above the bakery. Like when he had both arms full of groceries and the baked goods he’d swiped from work and hadn’t planned ahead to take the Jeep instead of walking.

Stiles fumbled for his keys and barely managed to balance everything long enough to get inside and dump them all on the kitchen counter. He shoved the perishables in the fridge and wasted no time in trampling upstairs, old floorboards creaking ominously under his heavy footfall.  He’d been wound up all day, heart beating a quick rhythm in his chest whenever he thought about that evening. It was Friday, the night of the barbecue, and no amount of mental preparation seemed to soothe his nerves.

He stripped quickly and stepped into the shower, trying to calm down. The water rained over his shoulders with slightly-too-hard pressure and he breathed deep.

It wasn’t a date. Derek was just coming over to eat and meet all his friends and probably be interrogated by them in a completely unsubtle and embarrassing way. No big deal. It was good, really. Stiles knew that sometimes he left an… off-putting first impression. Sometimes it took people awhile to warm up to him, and this was his chance for he and Derek to get to really know each other.

Stiles was also hoping to win Derek’s heart through his stomach. He’d gone grocery shopping yesterday, too, and bought a slightly overenthusiastic amount of food: enough to make fried chicken, ribs, cheeseburgers, hot dogs, mac and cheese, corn on the cob, baked potatoes, pasta salad…

Lust had been boiling under the surface of his skin basically all week, and Stiles needed to take the edge off. He took his cock in one slippery fist and jerked himself fast to the cacophony of thoughts ringing through his head. Derek stretching out his uniform, Derek gorging himself on pie and donuts and takeout, on barbecue while Stiles got to watch, filling up his belly until the buttons on his shirt burst open, lying down, blissed out and achingly full, groaning as he tried to digest enough to squeeze in dessert. Straddling Derek’s waist, belly between his thighs, kissing frosting from Derek’s lips.

Stiles came with a sigh against the shower wall, feeling the tightness in his shoulders give way slightly to post-orgasm looseness. When he caught his breath and stepped out of the shower, Stiles spent too long doing his hair, and even longer getting dressed. But it wasn’t his fault. His clothes seemed to have shrunk in the wash or something. He could barely get his skinny jeans over his ass, never mind buttoned. Granted, it’d been awhile since he’d had the occasion to wear them, but he hadn’t gained _that_ much weight. Right?

Stiles dug out another pair, a size up and looser, but still pretty tight. In an attractive way, he thought? Though when he didn’t suck in his stomach, the waistband dug a little into his muffin top. It was fine, though. He found a t-shirt that covered his belly after a few minutes of searching, and it was totally worth it when he sent a pic to Lydia and she proclaimed him _casual, like you’re not trying too hard, but still hot_ , which was _exactly_ what he was going for. He was sucking in in the picture, but didn’t think it was too noticeable.

When he sent it to Malia she said, _If things don’t work out with Derek I could probably talk Kira into a threesome just fyi_.

Stiles huffed and typed, _I’ll keep that in mind_.

 

Scott came over early to help Stiles cook and he burst in without knocking, putting a case of beer and a two-liter of Pepsi on the kitchen counter.

“Uh, dude. You realize there’s only gonna be eight of us, right?” Scott said, looking suspiciously at the food strewn across the kitchen in varying states of cooked-ness.

Stiles turned around to face him and wiped his brow on his forearm. “You know me, just being prepared. I’m like a boy scout.”

“You were a terrible boy scout.” Scott laughed and shook his head at the mess. “Poor guy’s not gonna know what hit him.”

Stiles waved a spatula at him. “He needs a good home cooked meal, okay! He told me so, and I’m happy to provide.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

“Fuck you, dude, this is purely selfless and altruistic.”

“Uh huh.” He clapped a hand on Stiles’s shoulder and said, “Hey, by the way, you look awesome.”

Stiles grinned. “Aww, thanks, buddy.”

“Now, where do you want me?” Scott asked, rolling up his sleeves.

Stiles wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh, Scotty, I thought you’d never ask.”

Scott rolled his eyes and went to check on the mac and cheese.

 

Stiles was a nervous eater. He’d been snacking as he cooked and there was an indeterminate amount of food in his belly that made him feel bloated, already, and he and Scott had just started bringing the dishes out to the backyard. He munched on some potato chips while he fired up the grill and resisted the urge to rub his stomach.

His hand hit the wood of the shelf next to the grill instead of a delicious bag of chips and he looked up to find that Malia had snatched it and was grinning at him through a mouthful. Kira appeared by her side and said, “Hey. This looks awesome.”

“When’s your hunky boyfriend getting here?” Malia said.

“He’s not my--” Stiles sighed. “In like ten minutes. Can you be useful and go help Scott instead of stealing my chips?”

Malia scrunched up her face in a half-snarl and dropped the bag back next to Stiles before striding off. Kira hovered, though, watching Stiles put a couple of burger patties on the grill. She was shifting, a little awkward. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her opening and closing her mouth like she wanted to say something. Stiles almost snapped at her because his nerves were getting more frayed by the second, but he managed to wait it out until she said, “You don’t need to be nervous, you know.”

Through a mouthful of chips, Stiles said, “I’m not nervous!”

He wasn’t. Just because his heart nearly shot out of his chest every time he heard the gate to the backyard squeak open? That didn’t mean anything. Scott, Malia, Allison, and Lydia were picking at some of the finger foods, filling the open air with laughter and chatter. That only left Jackson and Derek. He wiped his hands on his jeans, sweaty despite the cool breeze that hinted at the arrival of fall. It was probably the heat from the grill.

“He likes you, Stiles.”

“You don’t know that. Maybe he’s just being polite.”

Kira scrunched her face up in disbelief. Admittedly, polite seemed like a bit of a stretch, but Derek wasn’t _rude_. Most of the time. Anymore. To him. Actually that probably depended on your definition of rude but-- “Okay, well, that doesn’t mean he wants to bone me. Maybe he just enjoys my shining personality.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Kira said, seriously. She was probably the only person Stiles knew who would have ever said that sincerely. He loved her for it, and strangely, it helped, a little. “But it doesn’t mean he _doesn’t_ want to bone you. You never know.”

Stiles leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. That’s when he heard the gate, again. He turned, hesitantly, preparing himself to see Jackson’s ugly mug instead of--

“Derek,” Stiles said, breathless.

“Hey,” Derek said. He stood by the fence, hands shoved in the pockets of ridiculously tight jeans, looking unsure. He was adorable. _Perfect_.

“If it isn’t my favorite customer!” Stiles put down his spatula and practically ran over to him. “You made it.”

Derek smiled and ducked his head. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Stiles grabbed Derek’s elbow, leading him towards the setup of lawn chairs and a picnic table loaded with so many dishes there was barely room to eat. “Nor should you. I think I outdid myself, this time.”

Derek’s eyes widened, taking in the spread. “I can see that.”

Stiles elbowed him in the side, trying not to think about how fucking _soft_ he was. “Think it’s gonna be enough for you, big guy?”

“We’ll see,” Derek smirked and slid his eyes over to catch Stiles’s.

 _Holy fuck_. Stiles licked his lips, helplessly. “That’s what I like to hear. You’re gonna want to load up a few plates before these scavengers eat it all themselves.”

“Just a few?”

“To start.” Stiles winked, and backed up a couple of steps, reluctant to let Derek out of his sight. “I gotta get back to the grill. Help yourself.”

But Lydia stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Stiles, aren’t you gonna introduce us to your friend?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Um. Lydia, this is Derek. Derek, Lydia.”

Lydia shook Derek’s hand, eyes calculating. Stiles tried not to grimace as the rest of his friends crowded around, grinning in a totally _obvious_ way.

“Um, and that’s Allison. You know Scott, Kira, and Malia.”

“Hi,” Derek said.

“Okay, everyone introduced? Go eat some food and stop pestering Derek; he’s delicate.”

Derek rolled his eyes, and Stiles turned back to take the burgers off the grill. He could admit to himself that maybe he was being a little cowardly, running off so soon. Kira could easily take over the grill for him, after all, but he was already slightly overwhelmed by the whole situation. Grilling gave him something to focus on other than the way Derek’s soft-looking sweater clung to his belly, and the fact that it had adorable little thumb holes in the sleeves, and the massive pile of food he’d heaped onto his plate, and--

Frankly, Derek looked a little lost. He kept sneaking glances at Stiles from across the yard, so Stiles took pity on him. He tilted his head to say _come_ here, and Derek flashed him a grateful smile. Stiles lost the battle to his own face as he felt a besotted grin stretch over it.

“Need any help?” Derek said, even as he shoved a huge bite of pasta salad in his mouth.

“Nah, I got it. How’s the food?”

“Mmm.” Derek swallowed and licked his lips. “Amazing.”

“Aww.” Stiles fluttered his eyelashes. “You’re just saying that.”

Derek snorted. “I don’t need to inflate your ego more than it already is.”

“Gonna have to disagree with you, there. I need my ego stroked if you want me to keep making you delicious things.”

Stiles plucked a lightly toasted bun off the grill with his tongs and gave Derek a nice, fat hot dog to go with it.

Derek took a bite and his eyes fluttered shut. “Okay, fine. This is the best hot dog I’ve ever eaten. Happy?”

“Very,” Stiles grinned. He rewarded Derek with another hot dog.

Stiles was… distracted. That’s what he was going to blame because watching Derek attempt to _inhale_ his food made it hard to concentrate on anything else. Like his surroundings. Next thing he knew, Derek was tugging Stiles’s arm away from the grill, almost violently. Derek hissed and rubbed at a spot on his arm that had gotten too close to the heat and Stiles realized he’d almost leaned on the grill and burned his arm. But Derek _saved him_. “Oh my god, Derek. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yeah. You saved me from myself, man. Thanks.”

“Jesus, Stiles, how do you do this all the time without major injuries?”

“I’m not gonna lie to you, there’s been some close calls.”

“Hey, Stiles,” Kira said. He hadn’t even noticed her coming over. “Why don’t you let me take over. You should get some food.”

“Oh. Um, yeah, okay.”

Stiles handed over his tongs, a little reluctant for the surrender of his crutch, and walked with Derek over to the picnic table. Derek continued to shovel food in his mouth even as they did, and piled more onto his plate when they got there. “You sure your arm is okay?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine in a minute. It just stings.”

“Let me see.”

Derek held out his forearm for Stiles to inspect, and Stiles rolled up the sleeve of his sweater to look at the skin. It was a little red, but nothing to really worry about. “Okay, good. Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Stiles, it’s fine. Let’s get some food.”

“Sure, yeah.”

Stiles held onto Derek’s arm for a moment longer, fingertips stroking his skin, before he realized what he was doing. He let go and tripped over his feet on the way to get a plate of his own. Derek steadied his arm. “I’ve never seen someone so profoundly accident prone.”

“Shut up, not all of us can be beautiful, graceful athletes, asshole.”

Stiles’s eyes widened and he felt heat creep up his cheeks. He busied himself filling his plate so he didn’t have to look at Derek after calling him _beautiful_ , _what the fuck was wrong with him_?

“Why do you think I’m an athlete?” Derek said.

Stiles glanced over at Derek’s big, broad chest and beefy arms. “I don’t know, you just look like you... I mean, you were. Basketball, in high school. Right?”

“You remember that?”

Stiles swiped a hand through his hair, probably fucking up the carefully sculpted messy-look he’d spent 20 minutes on. “Vaguely. We went to the same school, so…”

“I remember,” Derek laughed. “You were kind of a nerd.”

Stiles sputtered, affronted. “ _You_ were kind of a nerd. It was just hidden underneath that whole tall, badass, leather jacket wearing, popular jock thing you had going on.”

Derek scrunched up his face like he was trying not to laugh again. “Shut up,” Stiles said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, well, your face did.”

Stiles piled his plate high with a piece of grilled Mexican street corn, a baked potato, and mac and cheese, portions big enough of all three that there wasn’t room for anything else. He got a couple beers out of the cooler for him and Derek and carved a space for them at the picnic table, shoving some stuff precariously close to the edge. Everyone else was standing, having given up on the prospect of sitting there, except Lydia, who was perched delicately on one of the lawn chairs with a glass of pink wine.

When he was sitting down, the waistband of Stiles's jeans felt entirely too tight. He pulled at the hem of his t-shirt, hoping his ass wasn't hanging out and it stayed covering all his skin. He probably should have made some time for shopping, but maybe it wasn't that noticeable.

Stiles shoved some potatoes in his mouth and said, “So what’s your favorite so far, dude?”

“Hmm. This mac and cheese is pretty awesome.”

“Right?! It was my mom’s recipe. She was the queen of comfort food.”

“It’s great. The fried chicken, too.”

“That one’s all me. I’m a master deep-fryer.”

“You’re just full of important skills.”

“So true.” Stiles lifted a forkful of mac and cheese to his mouth. It was as creamy, delicious, and cheesy as he remembered from his childhood. Took years to perfect, but it was _worth it_. “Mmm.”

“Makes athleticism and gracefulness look kind of overrated.”

“I honestly can’t tell if that was a genuine statement, but in my opinion, you’ve got a point.”

“No, I meant it. I’m at the point in my life where I eat something deep fried far more often than I play basketball.”

“Really? I thought, I mean…” Stiles flung his hand in the direction of Derek’s muscles.

“Are you asking me if I work out?” Derek asked with a smirk on his face.

All Stiles could do was sputter, but Derek took pity on him and said, “I do. Just more weight lifting than anything else, nowadays.”

“That’s... that’s good.” Stiles coughed, and definitely did not think about how many deep fried foods Derek would have to eat to override the calories burnt during his workouts. “You should try the ribs when Kira’s done with them. Her Super Secret Barbecue Sauce is literally the best you will ever have, guaranteed.”

“Jeez. You planning on rolling me out of here, or what?”

A surprised, awkward huff of laughter burst from Stiles’s mouth and his heartbeat tripled in speed. “I donno. You look pretty heavy, big guy. I think you’re on your own, there.”

“Wow.”

“No just, I mean, you’re like a thick, meaty guy. Six plus feet of muscle wrapped in--”

“Okay, I’m gonna stop you right there.” _Oh thank god_ , Stiles thought, shoving so much potato into his mouth he had a hard time chewing it. “I’ve got maybe an inch on you, tops. And I think we’re probably closer in weight than you think.”

Stiles didn’t buy that for a second. He looked Derek over, gradually chewing past the slightly overenthusiastic bite of potatoes in his mouth. Derek was muscular, sure. But if Stiles was being honest, Derek had also shot straight past ‘thick’ months ago, and he was sure Derek pretty well eclipsed the little bit of pudge Stiles had packed on in the past year. But thankfully, he didn’t say any of that. Instead, he grabbed Derek’s bicep and said, “I don’t know in what universe you think I could compete with this buffness, but I’m flattered, really.”

“I’m just saying. Maybe you couldn’t _carry_ me out of here, but I have faith in your ability to roll me.”

“Alright. For you, buddy. For you, I would give it a try.”

“That’s all I ask.” Derek reached for a piece of corn and tore into it.

“I’m glad we had this talk, because it looks like you’re gonna need my services after all.”

Derek snorted and rolled his eyes. “We’ll see.” He put down his corn, pushed himself up from the table and said, “I’m gonna get some ribs.”

Stiles took a scoop of pasta salad and a buttered roll while Derek was gone, and Scott sidled up next to him, bending down to talk closer to his ear. “Dude, I don’t wanna tell you how to live your life or anything, but…”

“What,” Stiles said through a mouthful of pasta.

“You should maybe think about… being nicer?”

“I’m nice!” Stiles said. Scott scrunched his face up doubtfully, but he just didn’t understand.

“I’m just saying. I know it’s been awhile and like, I know you’re into. You know. But, pointing out how much someone is eating isn’t flirting to most people.”

“That’s just how we talk to each other; it’s our thing. Gentle ribbing.”

“Maybe just… go easy on him and like. Talk like a normal person, or something.”

“Thanks, buddy.” Scott’s grin said the sarcasm either went straight over his head, or he didn’t care. He clapped Stiles on the shoulder and went to go sit next to Lydia.

Stiles filled his mouth with pasta salad and frowned down at his plate. He wasn’t that bad, was he? His plan was to woo Derek, eventually, not become his vaguely insulting, reluctant friend.

When Derek came back, he had a plate piled high with ribs and he set it between himself and Stiles. “Take some,” Derek said.

“Oh. Thanks, man.” Before Stiles knew it, he had several pieces on his own plate and was watching Derek tear into his own.

They ate together in silence for a few seconds, while Stiles tried to figure out something _nice_ to say that wouldn’t sound completely out of character. Derek was probably too used to Stiles’s incessant chatter though, because his eyebrows started to draw together and he turned to Stiles and said, “Something wrong?”

“Nothing!” Stiles said through a mouthful of pork, trying not to look guilty. “Just, uh. Hungry, I guess.”

Derek smirked and slid over the rest of the ribs, “In that case, you’re welcome to the rest of these.” He grabbed a baked potato for himself and heaped it with cheese and sour cream.

“Hey, Stilinski. This your boyfriend?”

Stiles turned his head. “Heyy Jackson. Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Yeah, you were probably too busy making googly eyes at… What’s your name again?”

“Derek.” Stiles said. “I wasn’t making--he’s not my boyfriend, dick. Jackson, Derek, Derek, Jackson.” He turned his head to Derek to say, “Don’t pay attention to him, he’s just bitter and lives to make other people miserable.”

“Oh my bad, it’s just you can’t shut up about this guy.” Jackson leaned into Derek, conspiratorially. “He talks about you constantly. I just assumed.”

“I get that a lot,” Derek said, at the same time Stiles said, “We’re just friends.”

Jackson stared at them doubtfully for a second and said, “Whatever.” He held up a 12 pack. “I brought beer.”

“Aw, Jackson, you do care.”

“I’m here, aren’t I? Like I don’t have anything better to do on a Friday night.”

Stiles snorted, nodding his head towards the house. “Cooler.” Jackson stalked off without another word and Derek raised both eyebrows. “You get used to him.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Derek said, diving back into his potatoes.

They settled into a more companionable silence as Stiles worked his way through his plate of ribs and other sides. He tried not to think about how obvious all his dumb friends were being, but Derek didn’t look uncomfortable about it. If anything, something in the set of his shoulders looked relaxed. Kira and Malia came over to stand by the picnic table, plates held in their hands, and they all talked for a long while. It was easy, and nice, and Derek’s dry wit was an awesome addition to their group, in Stiles’s opinion.

Derek picked up a piece of fried chicken and dropped a couple on Stiles’s plate, too, along with another scoop of mac and cheese. At some point, Derek had taken to filling up Stiles’s plate when he went to pick something up for himself, which was a little weird, but Stiles plowed through it. ‘Cause it was good. ‘Cause Derek gave it to him. ‘Cause he was chasing something: a feeling. Maybe it was just a case of mirroring what Derek was doing, but Stiles kept eating, almost mindlessly.

He was starting to get full, his belly aching just slightly, the pressure of all the food he’d eaten making his stomach grumble in complaint. He snuck one hand under the table to soothe it as he took another bite of mac and cheese. And another. He scraped the last bit of cheese off the paper plate and shoveled it into his mouth.

Barely a second passed between Stiles licking his lips clean and Derek grabbing both of their plates and standing up. “Gonna go get a burger, you want one?”

“Um, sure,” Stiles said, helplessly.

Derek walked over to the grill and Stiles took advantage of his absence by leaning back and rubbing a hand over his belly, stifling a burp behind a fist. He was starting to feel that telltale hint of tingly warmth, pleasantly full and sated, but he could probably fit in a bit more.

Stiles licked his lips and turned his head back to glance at Derek. He was almost-smiling at Scott, who had taken over the grill, and his belly was looking seriously bloated, wrapped tight in that sweater. He looked well-fed. Content. Stiles felt a surge of pride for helping him get like that. It was hot, Stiles thought, being there while he ate his fill. Hotter than just being the supplier. This way he could watch as Derek’s belly swelled up and see how many helpings he had. Before he knew it, Stiles reached over to snatch one of the big, buttery rolls Malia and Kira brought and was stuffing it in his mouth.

Derek came back with two burgers for Stiles, and only one for himself. Stiles’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You expect me to eat all this?”

“What, you getting full, Stiles?”

There was something like a challenge in Derek’s eyes, Stiles could see it, and he was not about to back down. “Not quite.” He leaned back enough to pat his gut. “It’s my appetite that’s gotten me this far, after all.”

Stiles loaded his burgers with condiments and tomatoes, picked one up and took a big bite. He’d mixed in onions and cheese and a spice mix into the meat, so it was, predictably, amazing. But it was also big, heavy, and dripping with grease. If he felt full before that, even just half of _one_ of his burgers felt like an extra five pounds of food stretching out his gut. He washed it down with beer, which didn’t help either because his stomach just filled up with bubbles, too. The mass of it was churning inside him, and he felt almost dizzy with how much he was eating.

He was packed full by the time he was done with that first burger, and if he had any sense at all he would’ve cut his losses and said goodbye to the second. But after he had taken a little break to catch his breath and caress his belly in the most unobtrusive way possible, glanced around quickly to see if anyone was paying him much attention, Stiles looked at that second burger and _wanted_ it. If asked, he wouldn’t have been able to explain why everything he’d already eaten wasn’t enough, why he pushed himself gluttonously over the line like that, but he thought it might have had something to do with the way Derek looked at him when he did.

 

Stiles was sure there were things _more_ humiliating than having your super hot crush help you walk like you had a leg injury instead of just having managed to eat so much food you could barely move. Probably. But Stiles was pretty sure he’d never experienced it. He hobbled with Derek’s shoulder under his arm, and his hand distractingly placed on Stiles’s hip, until they successfully made it inside despite loud protests from Stiles’s overstuffed gut. He was having trouble getting enough air to his lungs, but he kept his mouth clamped shut, trying to keep from panting out loud.

“Where do you want me to put you?” Derek said, amusement saturating his voice so completely, Stiles didn’t even have to look at him to know he was smirking. Asshole.

Stiles opened his mouth to tell him as much, but instead a burp gurgled up from his stomach. He groaned and tilted his head back, eyes shut tight, trying to resign himself to his fate. Death by embarrassment wasn’t how he’d wanted to go. “Noo, don’t put me anywhere, I need to clean up.”

The rest of his friends had left a while ago, but Derek didn’t hesitate to stay with him. Stiles didn’t know why that was, but he felt a little foggy, and wasn’t in much of a state to be analytical.

“You _need_ to sit down.” Derek guided Stiles over to his favorite, fluffy arm chair, and Stiles didn’t have it in him to resist. “I’m afraid you might explode if you don’t,” Derek said, patting the dome of Stiles’s swollen belly.

It was just teasing, Stiles knew, but in that moment it felt _wildly_ intimate and sent a wave of desire churning through his stomach alongside the excess of food. They were so close, Derek propping Stiles against his hip so their sides molded together, so softly. Stiles’s pulse beat hard and fast everywhere their bodies touched, and he didn’t want to let go. He might not have, if Derek hadn’t nudged and sent him stumbling down into the chair. His full belly lurched unpleasantly for a second before he heaved a deep sigh of relief at no longer having to stand. “Not gonna explode,” Stiles said.

“Humor me.”

His hand slid across Stiles’s gut, quick and soothing and _fucking shit that felt good_. Stiles shivered and every inch of his skin hummed, hypersensitive, needy. “Fuck. Food’s gonna go bad if I don’t bring it in.”

Derek laughed. “Oh no, we can’t have that.”

“I don’t,” Stiles burped. “Sorry. Don’t like wasting food. Sue me.”

“Clearly.”

“Ha, ha. You’re hysterical.”

“I know.”

“Ugh, fuck.” Stiles braced his arm against the back of the chair and tried to push himself back up. “Why did you let me sit down? I need to get up.”

“No, you don’t.” Derek held him down by the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Have something to drink.”

He passed Stiles a bottle of water, already opened, and _where did that even come from_? Stiles accepted it and took a careful sip. Derek smiled, satisfied, and went into the kitchen. “Where do you keep your garbage bags?”

“Underneath the sink. Wait, no! You don’t have to do that. Just. Just give me a few minutes, I’ll be good to go.”

“If you try to get up again, I’m gonna tie you to that chair. Just relax; I’ll handle it.”

It took Stiles a second or two to compose himself after thinking about _that_ imagery. He couldn’t confront the thrill it sent coursing through his veins, not when Derek was right in the next room. “But you’re my _guest_ ,” he said. “I can’t let you clean up, that’s not how this works.”

Derek ignored him and shook out a garbage bag before heading for the back door. “Don’t be so dramatic, I’ll be right back.”

Stiles slowly gulped back his water despite the pressure already built up in his belly. It was so hard to breathe leaned back like he was, as if there was something sitting on top of his lungs. Something like an enormous beachball of a gut, filled to bursting with heavy foods, he guessed.

He palmed the place where his stomach jutted out the farthest, trying to ease the dull ache. It grumbled and whined at him, sending up a series of small overfull burps, one after the other. With Derek safely out of earshot, he just let it happen, and it helped just slightly to relieve some of the pressure.

Stiles wasn't sure he'd ever let himself get so full. He felt sort of helpless and marooned and a part of him was grateful for the help, but why did it have to be _Derek_? This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. If he was being honest with himself, he was hoping it’d be the reverse of this: Stiles making sure Derek was nice and stuffed and sated, beached on Stiles’s easy chair. He had no idea what happened.

Finally, Stiles managed to work up a big enough burp that it freed a tiny bit of space in his belly. That's when Derek chose to walk back in with an armful of food. He smirked at Stiles as he passed him on the way to the kitchen and chuckled when Stiles flipped him off.

It took a few more trips before all the food was all safely inside and by that time, Stiles was just starting to feel the fullness easing. So of course, Derek came out of the kitchen with a piece of pecan pie on a paper plate. Stiles opened his mouth, incredulously, and didn’t hold out his hands to take it from him, so Derek balanced it on top of Stiles’s belly looking profoundly entertained.

“Don’t you think I’ve eaten enough?” Stiles said.

“I don’t think there’s gonna be enough room in the fridge for everything, you might as well have some.”

As far as excuses went, it was pretty flimsy, but… there was a delicious piece of pie within reach. Stiles _loved_ pecan pie. He dipped his finger in the filling and licked it up, trying not to fidget while Derek watched.

“I’m gonna put the food away,” Derek said. “There’s more pie if you want some.”

“Okay.”

Stiles ate slowly while Derek was in the kitchen, savoring the way it filled him up steadily, more and more. Wishing he could pop the button on his jeans, but at the same time enjoying the way it felt. He felt _huge,_ and he thought about what it would be like for Derek to keep feeding him like this. Pinned to his chair by his own gluttony, being offered piece after piece of pie. Stiles was turned on, he realized, and had been for the better part of the night. However embarrassing it was, however much he’d originally wanted the situation to be in reverse, he really couldn’t deny how much he was enjoying it.

He scraped the last of the pie into his mouth and drained his water. Stiles was gasping for breath, one hand splayed across the sphere of his belly, listening to the sounds of Derek opening and closing the fridge, various cabinets.

When Derek came back in, looking fat and soft and warm, carrying two of Stiles’s own Petit Four Bakery pie boxes, Stiles licked his lips, hungrily. Instead of the grin he’d expected Derek to level him with, his eyes widened before darting away. He placed both boxes on the end table next to Stiles and sat on the loveseat.

“Let me guess. There was absolutely no room in the fridge for these.”

“None,” Derek said, making a poor attempt at looking innocent. “Guess we’ll just have to polish them off.”

Stiles laughed, but it trailed off in a groan when the feeling shook the contents of his stomach too harshly. “All right, hand it over, then.”

“Pumpkin or pecan?” Derek asked, eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Pecan!”

Stiles tried to sit up but the movement compressed his belly uncomfortably and he had to smother a burp in his throat. Derek bit his lips distractingly as he grinned at him, “You doing okay, Stiles?”

“Totally fine. S’not like I ate enough for three or four extremely greedy people tonight, or anything. I mean what’s one more pie on top of that, right?”

“That’s the spirit.”

Derek passed over the box of pie. There were about three slices worth left. Usually that wouldn’t be much for him (which really spoke to the state of his diet lately, probably), but Stiles was already so full, and he knew first hand everything that went into that pecan pie, and what was left was still probably a couple of thousand calories, easy.

“For someone who professes to be concerned about me exploding, you sure don’t seem like it,” Stiles said, opening the box.

“Trust me, I’m very concerned.” Derek opened his own box and took out a big chunk with his fork, shoveling it in his mouth as if Stiles had been starving him or something.

Stiles took a slightly more conservative bite. “How is it that you’re not in my condition, anyway? I could’ve sworn you were keeping up with me.”

“Not quite,” Derek said, holding back his laughter.

Stiles morosely took a bite out of his pie. “I don’t normally gorge myself this much, FYI. You caught me on an off day.”

“It’s fine Stiles, really. I’m in no position to judge you.” He gave his own gut a couple of pats and Stiles was momentarily mesmerized watching it jiggle, a bite of pie frozen halfway to his mouth. There was no arguing that Derek looked plenty full. His belly was swollen underneath his sweater and Stiles could see how much it showed off how much food he had put away throughout the night. But still. He didn’t see Derek basically immobilized by his own gluttony. As much as he’d like to.

“I’ll believe that when I have to carry _you_ around because you’re too full to move.”

Derek was looking at his pie, smile fighting not to stretch over his face. “I don’t mind. If you ever find yourself in this position again, give me a call.”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, I’ll be sure to do that, big guy.”

A few seconds passed in companionable silence while they both ate their fill. Or, in Stiles’s case, way, way past his fill. Stiles stealthily watched Derek devour his pie while he picked at his own. He probably shouldn’t have been thinking about how sensual it was and how he could watch Derek eat for _hours_ and not get bored.

“Something on your mind?” Derek said, smirking at him.

“Uh,” Stiles said, eloquently. He racked his brain for something to say that wasn’t, _you look so hot when you’re eating, do you want to stay and eat all my leftovers, I’ll make you anything you want. Once I can get up again._ He flailed a vague gesture at Derek’s pie, now almost destroyed. “How come you’re not eating your favorite?”

One of the Chocolate Caramel Peanut Butter Death Swirl Pies was practically untouched, last Stiles had checked. He’d ducked out of dessert earlier, but the others had had some before they left. When Derek was done chewing, he said, “I’m taking that one home with me.”

Stiles’s heart may have fluttered, just a little bit. “Oh, you _are_ , are you?”

“Yep.”

“Guess that’s fair.”

“You told me you’d make sure I was full of home-cooked food, and I’m not full yet.”

Derek’s hand rubbed over the swell of his belly, jutting far into his lap and filled with hours worth of feasting. “Uh-h.” Stiles cleared his throat. “You sure about that, buddy?”

“I told you I can eat a lot.” Derek grinned and popped the last of his pie crust in his mouth, moaning around the mouthful.

Stiles’s blood rushed south so quickly he was left reeling, suddenly lightheaded. He sat up a fraction more, pushing against the ache in his gut and crossed his legs to give him some cover. He shoved the last bite of his own pie in his mouth, tried to focus on chewing and swallowing past the mass of it and not on Derek, or Derek’s belly, or his _own_ belly and how it felt so deliciously fucking burning hot, pumped obscenely full.

He felt heat claw up his face and he looked anywhere, everywhere except for Derek until Stiles heard him ease himself up off the couch and say, “It’s a good thing I finally found someone who can keep up with me.”

“I, uh. You’re welcome?”

Derek leaned over slightly, and gave Stiles’s belly a couple of careless, easy taps with the palm of his hand. Stiles’s skin sang under his touch. He barely, barely fought back a whine, breath coming out stuttery and sharp.

“Oh sorry, does that hurt?”

 _No, god, keep doing that_ , _please_ , Stiles wanted to say. But he was afraid that if he’d opened his mouth he’d let out some embarrassing litany of noises because Derek’s hand was caressing light and airy against his belly, just long enough to give him the sweetest, most exquisite taste, before retracting just as quickly.

His body was shuddering with tension, desperate to have Derek’s hands back on him, but he finally got his voice back and he said, “No. Thanks, it’s, I’m. Fine. Good. Thanks.”

Derek still stood in front of him, hands shoved in his pockets. And there was something hesitant on his face, but Stiles couldn’t work it out because he was pretty sure there wasn’t quite enough oxygen going to his brain.

“I should get going,” Derek said. “Got an early day tomorrow.”

Stiles swallowed back his disappointment. He couldn’t very well ask Derek to stay, to, what? Give him endless belly rubs with his fucking magic hands? “Oh, yeah. Sure.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“No, um. Probably not. Got the day off.”

“Oh, okay. See you around, then.” Derek grabbed a plastic bag off the floor that had what looked like another pie box stashed inside. Stiles was somewhat gratified to notice how Derek grimaced with the difficulty of bending over.

Before he could stop himself, Stiles added, “But I was… thinking of coming by the station?”

He hadn’t been until about ten seconds ago, but Derek didn’t need to know that. It probably made him slightly pathetic that he wanted to see Derek again as soon as possible. He had to keep reminding himself that this was _not_ a date.

“Okay.” Derek smile, walking backwards a couple of steps before turning around to head towards the front door. He came to a stop again before he disappeared around the corner. “Do you wanna lock the door behind me?” he said.

Stiles shook his head adamantly. “No. Oh my god. I’m never getting up again.”

“You sure? You could get robbed and you wouldn’t even be able to defend yourself.”

Stiles’s faint, breathless laugh trailed off into a hiccup. “Ugh. Don’t worry, I can call 911 just fine from the comfort of my chair.”

Derek smiled, dimples in stark relief against his chubby cheeks and double chin. “See you later, Stiles.”

“Bye, Derek.”

Not long after the door shut softly behind him, Stiles whispered a quiet, vehement, “ _Fuck_.”

His hands moved almost instantly to his overfed gut, soothing but also tracing the ghost of Derek’s fingers. Stiles gasped a stuttering breath and his hips writhed, chasing the pleasure of it. “Mmm,” Stiles moaned, licking the traces of pie filling from his lips and wishing for something he didn’t know how to name.

His mind was filled with ideas, images, tastes, feelings both new and thoroughly worn. He couldn’t focus so he just let the symphony of it overwhelm him while his hands slid over his body, shaking and grasping.

It took so much effort to even get his jeans unbuttoned, but even that, even that was almost unbearably erotic, just like the way the zipper slid down without a push, and how he couldn’t stop his t-shirt from rolling up just a little too high. Stiles dug his fingers into the plushness spilling over the waistband of his boxers, and with his other hand brought himself off almost brutally, desperately, because he’d been on the edge of _something_ all fucking night and he needed release.

His fantasies were all jumbled up, vague and blurry, but every one was saturated in _Derek, Derek, Derek_.

 

***

 

The next morning, Stiles woke up in that same chair, and it was still dark. He was messy and half-naked, pie boxes stacked on the end table next to him. He groaned in embarrassment as the memories from the night before washed over him.

He cleaned himself up a little, pulled up his boxers but kicked off his jeans and made his way into the kitchen. Stiles had gotten used to waking up at the asscrack of dawn, but he didn’t have to be anywhere that day, so he figured he’d eat something and go back to bed. It had to have been only a few hours ago that he was helplessly stuffed, but now he was starving as if he hadn’t eaten in ages.

Stiles opened the fridge to find some breakfast, and idly noted at least three places that could’ve fit the leftover pie.

 

***

 

Stiles would _like_ to say he hadn’t memorized the times Derek usually came in to the bakery to make sure he was working the counter, but if he did, he’d be lying through his teeth. Which wasn’t to say he’d never missed him, but he served Derek 88 times out of 100, statistically, and he’d like to keep it that way. After all, how could he pass up a chance to spend time feeling flustered and internally debating the ethics of overtly hitting on a customer until he second guessed himself into not asking Derek out for like, the thousandth time?

Which was why, after Stiles heard the oh so familiar lilt of Derek’s voice when he was in the back kitchen decorating a birthday cake, he all but threw his piping bag across the counter, smearing pink frosting in its path. He stealthily speed-walked over to the doorway leading into the bakery, but made sure he was behind the wall and out of sight.

Stiles was way too eager to see Derek again, but he could at least pretend to keep cool. He’d gone into the station like he said he would on Saturday, but Derek had been stuck on traffic duty at the time, and Stiles hasn’t seen him since the barbecue.

When the coffee machine stopped whirring, he heard Derek say, “So, um. Stiles off today?”

Stiles’s heart beat a stuttery rhythm against his chest. Derek was asking about him. That had to be a good sign, right?

“Oh!” Scott said. “No, he’s in the back, do you want me to--”

“No. It’s fine. Just wanted to tell him thanks for Friday.”

“Yeah, man, definitely! It was great having you.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome to come hang out anytime, I’m sure Stiles would _love_ that.”

Stiles cringed. Scott was clearly incapable of not making Stiles sound like some lovesick puppy, but somehow he managed to keep himself from bursting through the doors to come to his own defense.

“Yeah?” Derek sounded a little surprised. “Um, okay.”

“Anything else I can get you, dude?”

“No. Just, uh. Tell Stiles I stopped by, okay?”

“Sure! You sure you don’t want me to get him?”

“I don’t want to bother him.”

Scott snorted out a laugh. “Trust me, it’s cool. I think he’d be offended if I didn’t tell him you were here. Just give me a sec.”

“Oh.”

Stiles would’ve gotten out of the way earlier, except his brain had apparently shut off somewhere between ‘tell Stiles I stopped by’ and that soft, surprised ‘oh.’ As it was, Stiles got smashed in the face by the door and yelped, clutching his nose.

“What the fuck, dude!? Are you okay!?” Scott whispered emphatically.

“Holy fuck. Yeah, I’m fine.” He pulled his hands away from his face and checked to make sure he wasn’t bleeding. Scott poked at his nose gingerly. “Ow.”

“Were you hiding behind the door?” Scott said. He was looking intently at Stiles’s face. Checking for a break, probably.

“No.” Stiles wiggled his nose. It was throbbing a little, but he didn’t think he needed to go to the hospital or anything. “Maybe.”

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice sounded from the other side of the door. Stiles scrambled through it, Scott on his heels.

“I’m fine, I’m good. Hey. Nice to see your shining face, Derek.” Stiles batted Scott’s hands away and ignored his friend’s eye-roll.

“What happened?”

“Nothing, I’m fine. Scott just surprised me. Too focused on work, I guess.”

Derek offered him a soft little smile. It made Stiles feel all warm inside.

Scott slapped Stiles on the shoulder, grinned widely and said, “I’m gonna go, uh, do some stuff. You can take over from here, right, Stiles?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Scott breezed past him into the back room, leaving Stiles both grateful and slightly terrified, gazing awkwardly at Derek’s beautiful face.

“So--”

“I just wanted to thank you for having me over the other night. It was--it was fun.”

“Oh, yeah, no problem, dude. Pleasure was all, um. All mine…”

“Yeah.” Derek’s mouth scrunched up to hold back a smile and it was the cutest fucking thing Stiles had ever seen. God, he was so screwed. “Seemed like you had a pretty good time.”

Stiles winced thinking about the bloated, helpless state he’d been in that night and felt a wave of heat rise to his face. It was hot, he couldn’t deny it. Having Derek take care of him like that. But it was still vaguely humiliating. Or at least, it _should_ have been. It hadn’t seemed like Derek minded at the time, but in retrospect, Stiles second guessed himself and was worried he’d come off like a weirdo or something.

“Yeah.” Stiles laughed, hand rubbing against his face. “Maybe a little too much fun. Sorry you got stuck helping me clean up.”

“No problem. It was sort of my fault you uh, had so much fun, anyway.”

He hadn’t expected Derek to admit to it, actually, and Stiles had half-convinced himself he’d made it all up, how Derek pushed food at him near constantly. Derek shot a quick glance down Stiles’s body.  Stiles realized he had one hand against the swell of his belly, touching it absently as if the presence of Derek had triggered a sense memory of the other night, full to bursting with rich food and unable, _unwilling_ to say no when Derek brought him more and more.

He jerked his hand away and stuffed both in the pockets of his jeans. Or, well, he tried. They were getting tight enough that it was hard to squeeze his hands in alongside his thick thighs, so he hooked his thumbs in the belt loops instead.

“Mmh. That’s very true.” Stiles’s voice came out so breathy he cleared his throat, but that only served to make it sound sort of rough, instead. “And here I was thinking I was gonna be feeding _you_ the huge home-cooked meal.”

Derek grinned wolfishly and patted the crest of his belly. “Oh, you definitely did, don’t worry about that. I’ve just got more practice, is all.”

Stiles scoffed even as his stomach swooped. “Are you calling me a lightweight, Derek?”

“Hmm.” Derek tilted his head, consideringly. “I don’t know if the amount of food I saw you put away could be considered _light_ , exactly, but...”

That shocked a laugh out of Stiles, and he licked his lips, bracing his hands on the counter and leaning forward. “But what? You’re a heavyweight?”

“Exactly.”

Unable to resist anymore, Stiles let his eyes trail hungrily down Derek’s body, zeroing in on the place Derek most displayed how much of a heavyweight he really was. His gut stood out in front of him, big and round and straining against his shirt. Stiles knew Derek had to be able to eat a lot more than he’d seen. If he had nearly matched Stiles on Friday and hadn't even seemed to even break a sweat. If he could demolish an entire, heavy pie one night and come back for more the next morning... Derek was a glutton, Stiles knew it, but he wanted, _needed_ to see for himself. The barbecue had only made Stiles more desperate for it.

“I don’t know. You talk a big game Derek, but I think one of these days you’re gonna have to show me what you _really_ got.”

“I will,” Derek said, enigmatically, putting on his sunglasses. He stepped back as if he was getting ready to leave, but Stiles gestured at the lone cup of coffee Derek was holding.

“Is that all you’re getting? Don’t you want anything else, heavyweight?”

Derek hesitated, visibly, before taking a step closer to the counter. “What would you recommend?”

Stiles glanced around the displays, humming in thought. “Cheesecake,” he said. “Fresh New York cheesecake with chocolate shavings, drizzled with caramel.”

“I’ll take it. Anything else?”

Right then he felt like he could ask Derek to get anything and he’d do it. He liked food, a _lot_ , that much was obvious. But there was something else there, something almost _definitely_ to do with Stiles, and not just the bakery.

“Peanut butter cookies.”

“Okay.”

Derek’s eyes were covered, now, so Stiles couldn’t read his whole expression, but his face was tinged pink, lips parted. It was almost as if…

No, Stiles wasn’t going to get his hopes up, not for that. If he was even slightly open to any of the things Stiles was thinking about, it’d be a fucking miracle. If he was even interested in Stiles _at all_ he might actually faint. His track record with crushes wasn’t exactly encouraging.

Stiles turned away from the sight of Deputy Derek Hale, fattened up with a good deal of help from Stiles’s baking. He was probably _not_ totally into it, too, no matter what Stiles’s traitorous brain seemed to want him to think. So Derek was blushing, that didn’t mean anything. Not really.

Stiles took deep, calming breaths as he packaged up a cheesecake and a dozen cookies for Derek and put both boxes in a paper bag. Placing the bag carefully next to the register, Stiles finally looked back up at Derek, his face strangely close even with the counter separating them. He covered Stiles’s hand with his; big and and warm, and pulled the bag away from him. “What do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house. Just, um. Enjoy.”

“I will,” Derek said, and it was probably only in Stiles’s imagination that it sounded remotely suggestive. “Thanks, Stiles.”

“Anytime, buddy. I’m happy to, yeah. Um, see you.” He felt like he was in a fog, watching Derek leave with a smile on his face.

Pretty soon after, Stiles was swamped with customers. He went through them on autopilot, repeating dull pleasantries while he was lost in his thoughts.

Okay, so it would be a miracle if Derek was interested, but it wasn't _impossible_. Sometimes it almost seemed like that's exactly where all the data pointed. Lydia had even texted Stiles the day after the barbecue to tell him he definitely had a shot. If he trusted anyone to tell him the truth, it was her. Stiles just needed a plan.

He could probably ease Derek into the kink stuff later. After all, he liked food and Stiles liked giving it to him. Stiles just needed to ask him out first. That was step one.

Just ask Derek out. Easy.


	2. Big Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so long! Hope you all enjoy, thank you for reading <3

The first time Derek came into Petit Four Bakery, his face was a mask of what appeared at the time to be _murderous rage_. He spoke mostly in grunts, his jaw clenched and shoulders tight, bulky and intimidating with just a hint of softness.

It was somehow both terrifying and strangely attractive. Familiar too, though Stiles had a hard time putting his finger on exactly why, at first.

“Mornin’, Deputy. What can I get for ya?”

The man spent a few seconds glaring daggers at the chalkboard menu over Stiles’s shoulder, and finally spat out, “Coffee.”

“Sure. Anything else?”

“No. Just coffee. Black, no sugar.”

“You came into a bakery for a black coffee with no sugar?” Stiles asked before he could stop himself.

“Yes,” the deputy said, a little on the sassy side, and Stiles snorted, inelegantly.

He spun around to fill a cup and said, “Can I interest you in something to go with it? We have some awesome coffee cake, I can get you a slice?”

“No, I’m--I shouldn’t.”

_Ah_ , Stiles thought. _A Dieter_. He’d suspected as much from the way the dude seemed so on edge, staring at the shop with deep, furious longing and never coming in. He flicked a look back at the guy and he looked plenty fit to Stiles. Could actually use a few thousand calories to fill him out, but that was probably just him. Stiles dropped his steaming hot cup of plain, black, bitter coffee on the counter and went to ring the guy up.

He picked up the cup and took a tiny sip, grimacing.

“Something wrong?” Stiles asked.

“No, it’s--fine.”

“C’mon, man, I hate to see you like this. At least get a donut or something. They’re good! I make them myself.”

The guy hesitated, but his face softened just a little, so Stiles kept talking.

“Treat yourself, dude. You’re an officer of the law. Protecting our fine streets from crime and lawlessness. You deserve something delicious. Here.”

Stiles went over to the donut display case and took out a plain glazed one and handed it to the deputy. He took it tentatively from Stiles’s hand and sighed. “Fine. Just one.”

Stiles grinned, victorious. “On the house. Let me know how you like it, though.”

As he was ringing the guy up for the coffee, Scott came out of the back room, carrying a fresh tray of eclairs. He could see the dude eying them up, desire plain on his face. Stiles thought about offering him one, but he could tell he’d already pushed the guy enough. For today, anyway.

“Enjoy, Deputy…”

“Derek.”

“Derek. Hope to see you back soon.”

The dude, Derek, rolled his eyes and walked out, steps a little bit lighter than when he came in.

Stiles gasped, the Deputy’s bubble butt having triggered an old memory. He smacked Scott on the arm, still looking out the window as Derek made his way down the sidewalk. “Dude, that was Derek Hale. Remember? We went to school together.”

“Oh, yeah. That basketball player you had that huge crush on freshman year.”

“What!? Oh my god. No. I--I never had a crush on Derek Hale.”

“Oh.” Scott looked confused for a second. “I just assumed that’s why you dragged me to so many basketball games. And why you joined the history club. And why you--”

“Oh my _god._ ” Stiles didn’t have his Big Bisexual Revelation until years after that. His weird obsession with hot senior Derek Hale didn’t register as a crush at the time, but it was hard to deny when he thought about it. “I totally had a crush on Derek Hale.”

Scott had the nerve to laugh at him. “I mean I didn’t want to bring it up, but--”

“Jesus, he got hot. Like, he was already hot, but he got _really_ hot.”

Scott scrunched up his face. “Not really my type. He seems like kind of an asshole.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed wistfully, leaning his elbows on the counter. “He’s totally my type.”

 

Later that day, Stiles barged into his father’s office and said, “Why didn’t you tell me Derek Hale is one of your new deputies?”

The sheriff sighed and took off his reading glasses. “Because I didn’t think it was relevant, Stiles. Why?”

He became acutely aware that he had no excuse prepared. “It. I. No reason?”

“Uh huh.” He narrowed his eyes, shrewdly. “Something you wanna tell me, kid?”

“No, I just. Saw him today, that’s all. Did he just move back?”

“Yeah, a couple months ago. Transferred from New York.”

“Ah. Cool.” Stiles sat down, hoping he appeared nonchalant. “Cool, cool.” He put the turkey burger he’d picked up from his dad’s favorite diner on his desk to distract him.

“He a friend of yours?”

“No. Not really? I mean I knew him. In high school. We weren’t _friends_ , I was just. Just wondering. How’s the Werewolf Case going, huh, dad?”

Stiles took a big bite of his own enormous double cheeseburger monstrosity made from 100% greasy beef. The sheriff paused, but in the end, he sighed, and allowed Stiles to change the subject. Thank god.

“For the last time, stop calling it that. It’s just a couple of mountain lions. And no, you can’t look at the files.”

 

***

 

Stiles licked rocky road ice cream from his huge waffle cone and hummed at the flavor. There was a little local ice cream shop a few stores down from the bakery and Stiles had been stopping in on his walk home nearly every day all summer long. Naturally, the habit had carried over into fall, even now that there was a chill in the air. He was still a little warm from helping Scott unpack some boxes before his shift ended and his flannel was rolled up to his elbows. The ice cream would help cool him down. That’s what he told himself.

Stiles breathed in smoky autumn air, leaves crunching under his feet. His eyes caught on someone familiar walking a handsome German shepherd down the pathway to the park across the street. He’d know that chunky backside anywhere, even in civilian clothes. Which were near-sinfully tight, _oh my god_. No one’s ass had any right to look that good in sweatpants. Stiles was crossing the street before he’d even fully thought about it.

It had been a couple of weeks since the barbecue, and Stiles hadn’t been able to come up with another excuse for them to hang out. Maybe he didn’t need one, but he was nervous, okay? So he made due with their vague texting and interacting at work. And, apparently, stalking Derek in the park.

He had to do a little bit of speed-walking to catch up with him, but finally, he sidled up to Derek and said, “Fancy meeting you here, Deputy.” His voice came out a little breathless with exertion.

“Stiles.” Surprise colored Derek’s voice and he smiled. Stiles was so captivated he barely noticed the dog trying to take a lick out of his ice cream cone until Derek said, “Duke, stop it,” and tugged at the leash.

The dog whined, sorrowfully, licking a drip of melted ice cream off its nose, and sat down on the grass. Stiles laughed and lifted his cone up. He pet the dog’s head with his other hand, and its tail thumped on the ground. “Who’s this little buddy?”

“This is Duke,” Derek said, his hand coming up to scratch the dog behind the ears. Stiles absolutely did _not_ relish when their fingers brushed against each other. “He’s Laura’s--my sister’s dog.”

“He’s a good boy, huh? What a good boy.”

Duke licked his hand and he laughed before glancing back up at Derek. But instead of looking at his face like a normal person, Stiles’s eyes caught on Derek’s gut. He couldn’t help it. The grey spandexy exercise shirt Derek was wearing was bunching around his hips and below his chest. It was pulled so tight around his belly that Stiles could make out the shadow where Derek’s belly button was and the shallow cleft right below it. And then there was the way the shirt cupped Derek’s breasts. The way the Stiles was positive the v-neck would show off a tasteful hint of cleavage if Derek brought his arms together or leaned over. From behind, all Stiles had been able to see was a hoodie, but it was unzipped and gaping wide open in front, giving Stiles a frankly _unforgettable_ view. Stiles really needed to stop looking.

“He’s a menace,” Derek said. “I’m on dog-sitting duty while she’s out of town.”

“Awesome.” Stiles took a deep breath and dragged his eyes off Derek’s… everything. “Sorry to interrupt your walk, I just saw you pass by, thought I’d say hey.”

Derek smirked. “Hey.”

“Um. Hey…So you walked right past the bakery and didn’t stop in to pick up a snack or anything? I’m wounded. Am I losing my touch, or what?”

“Not quite.” Derek narrowed his eyes accusatorially, and Stiles had to be imagining the disappointment in his voice, he had to be. “I stopped by on my lunch, actually, but you weren’t there.”

“Oh no, I hate when I miss my favorite customer!”

Derek tried to hide a smile, ducked his head down. Then he lifted up his hand, pointed at his wrist and said, “Uh, you got--”

“Oh,” Stiles said, looking at his own wrist. There were fresh sticky drip tracks all over it, the air still not cool enough to keep the ice cream from melting during Stiles’s neglect. Without thinking, he licked it off, and up the side of the cone to catch it all on his tongue before it added to the mess. As he was licking his lips clean, Stiles looked up to find Derek’s eyes on his mouth. He looked flushed, like the cool breeze was getting to him, but Stiles half-wondered if it was more to do with what he was doing than the weather. Experimentally, he lapped at the ice cream again, sucking it into a little point at the top.

If he hadn’t been looking for it, Stiles might not have noticed the way Derek’s eyes focused on the sight, or the way lips parted while he watched. Like he’d gotten caught, Derek turned his head away and rubbed at the back of his neck. Stiles nearly crowed with joy, but he managed to contain it to a wide, possibly manic grin.

“What?” Derek said.

“Absolutely nothing.” Stiles let his hand trail over Derek’s shoulder and said, “Can I walk with you?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Stiles took another swipe at his ice cream and Derek cleared his throat. “Isn’t it a little cold for ice cream?”

Stiles scoffed. “It’s _never_ too cold for ice cream, Derek.”

He took another languid lick and the feeling that soared through him when Derek’s eyes flickered between the path ahead of them and Stiles’s lips, felt an awful lot like _victory._

Derek nodded his head towards a hot dog stand. “Well, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna stop and get something warm.”

“Knock yourself out, dude,” Stiles said. But it was only 3 pm. “So late lunch or early dinner?”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “Neither. I’m only getting a snack”

“Hey, no judgment.” Stiles held up his rapidly disappearing ice cream cone.

A ‘snack’ turned out to be two chili cheese dogs. “You want anything?” Derek asked.

“Oh, uh.” Sure, Stiles had only just flattened out the double scoop on top and bitten into the edge of his large cone, but he was never one to turn down food. Even when he’d already had plenty. “Sure. If you’re offering. Cheese fries sound good.”

Derek looked pleased and paid the girl behind the counter. “Glad I get to feed you, for once.”

“Hah,” Stiles said, breathlessly, face suddenly hot. “You know, you can feed me whenever you want.”

Derek’s face froze, unreadable or maybe faintly horrified, and Stiles had all of a second to panic before Derek smirked and said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Stiles busied himself attempting to inhale his dessert before his fries were ready. He tried not to think too intently about Derek feeding him, because that was... That was a little too much to take in right then. Derek managed to balance both his hot dogs on his arm, somehow making it look effortless. Duke whined, begging for food, but Derek made a hush sound that clearly stated, _this is mine_.

Stiles took the fries in one hand and attempted to eat them with his face, other hand still holding his ice cream. Derek picked up one of his fucking huge chili cheese dogs and took a messy, dripping bite. It reminded him of the barbecue, Derek putting away hot dogs and cheeseburgers like it was nothing, and it left Stiles wondering, _once again_ , how much Derek could eat when he pushed himself.

“A snack, huh?”

Derek glared at him, playfully. “What would you call it?”

“Well, a _normal_ person would call that two portions of a full meal, probably.”

“And you?”

Through a mouthful of fries, Stiles said, “Me?”

“What would you call it?”

“Hmm.” He chewed and swallowed, licking cheese off his lips. “Post-lunch, maybe. Lunch Part 2: The Reckoning.”

“I can see that. You’re not quite at my level, yet.”

“Your _level_ , huh?”

“This is nowhere _near_ enough for a meal.” Derek emphasized that by taking the biggest bite of hot dog Stiles has ever seen someone take, himself included.

“Wh--um. What is, then?” Stiles asked, not sure he was prepared for the answer. He inhaled his ice cream so fast it gave him brain freeze.

“I’d need a couple more of these, at least.”

“At least?! Oh my god, I can’t imagine how fat I’d get eating like that all the time. Just working at the bakery’s enough to do me in.” Stiles spread out his arms, gesturing at himself.

Derek raked his eyes down Stiles’s body and then raised his eyebrows. His mouth flattened out like he was trying not to smile. “Just that, huh?”

Stiles felt heat spread across his face as he looked down at his half-eaten fries and nearly-demolished ice cream cone. “This--this is a _snack_.” His belly gurgled at him as if to disagree.

“My point exactly. You’re not _quite_ at my level, but I think that _you_ think that you’re further behind than you really are.”

“There you go again with the fat jokes, Derek. Maybe I eat salads and fucking… grapefruits all the time. You wouldn’t know.” He popped the rest of the cone in his mouth and licked the melted ice cream from his fingers. Derek’s pause lasted a couple seconds, and Stiles had to look up to catch his eyes.

“ _Do_ you?” Derek said. He picked up his chili cheese dog and took a messy bite out of it.

“Of course not; salads are _terrible_. I had enough salads as a kid to last me a lifetime, thank you very much.”

Stiles picked up a couple fries to eat with his fingers this time, and Derek chewed through his mouthful before he said, “That’s my point. It just seems like every time I see you, you’re stuffing your face, same as me.”

Stiles’s mouth dropped open. “Not… _every_ time,” he said, mentally going through his interactions with Derek. “Sometimes I’m working.”

Derek grinned. “Even when you’re working, you’re usually sampling your own product.”

Stiles wasn’t exactly _surprised_ to hear that, per se. It was just that he hadn’t really noticed he was eating so much in front of Derek. Admittedly, he’d been known to use food as a crutch to cover his nerves and keep him from putting his foot in his mouth, but instead of letting Derek know that, Stiles said, “That is a _wild_ exaggeration.”

“It’s really not.”

“Well, you didn’t _say_ anything, so it’s partially your fault that I’m getting fat.” Stiles smirked and took a big, triumphant bite of fries. Derek wasn’t looking him in the eyes when he said it, but Stiles didn’t miss the quick little inhale and the way he licked his lips. It was possible Stiles was reading into it too much, but what if he _wasn’t_?

Derek flicked his eyes back up to meet Stiles’s. “Not as much as it’s your fault that _I’m_ getting fat.”

Stiles let out a breathy, nervous laugh and swayed closer to Derek. “Please.” He poked at Derek’s chest and tried really, really hard not to think about how it squished under his finger. “Your ‘snack’ says otherwise, buddy. You would’ve found another illicit pastry supplier with or without me.”

Derek smiled like he knew something Stiles didn’t. “Stiles, I was on a diet when I met you, you know.”

“Yeah, I remember. Black coffee, no fun at all, extra grumpiness.” He worried for a moment that it was weird to remember that, but... “Are you saying my baking was so good you couldn’t help yourself?”

Derek held his gaze. “It was so good I didn’t _want_ to.”

Stiles felt lightheaded suddenly. “Wow, really? That’s… pretty good.”

“No kidding.”

Stiles could practically taste the charge in the air between them. And he was almost certain Derek felt it too. All he had to do, was _do_ something about it.

“So Derek…”

“So, Stiles.”

“You going to the fall fest this weekend?”

“Uh… yeah, actually.”

“Oh, cool. Uh, me too.”

“Guess I’ll see you there, then?”

Stiles was too nervous to look him in the eye, but there was a distinct tone in Derek’s voice; Stiles could hear the grin in it, and it gave him enough hope to push forward even though his heart was stuttering, panicky.

“Actually, do you--I was wondering if. Maybe. You wanted to go? With me, I mean? Obviously, you’re already going. But I could like, pick you up, maybe? I have to show up early; we’re supplying the pies for the pie eating contest, but I was thinking, maybe after I drop them off we could hang out. Play some shitty, rigged carnival games. Go on a hay ride. Get some cotton candy. I can try to win you one of those giant stuffed bears?”

He held his breath and glanced over just in time to see Derek smile, but there was something hesitant about it. “That sounds nice, Stiles, but…”

“But?”

“I… I can’t, sorry. Another time.”

Stiles felt his heart shatter, the sharp ache spreading through his chest almost physical. He tried not to let it show on his face. “Okay, yeah, no that’s, that’s fine. It was just an idea. No big deal.”

“I just have some stuff I need to take care of earlier in the day, but I’ll see you there, right? Later?”

Stiles paused, suddenly wanting to do literally anything else. But Derek’s expression was so earnest, like even though he was turning Stiles down, he wanted to stay friends, that it was important to him. Maybe Stiles would be able to find comfort in that later, but right then it was hard to feel anything outside of the devastation of realizing Derek didn’t want to date him after all. And he’d been so sure, that the--the _thing_ between them wasn’t all in Stiles’s head. “Yeah, totally. I’ll be there.”

“Good. I hear it’s gonna be really good this year. You don’t wanna miss it.”

“It’s the same shit every year, dude, but whatever you say.” Stiles took a step back and looked away, not wanting to see Derek’s face. He gestured loosely at Duke and said, “Look, thanks for the fries. I’ll let you get back to--I’ll see ya.”

He didn’t wait for Derek’s response, he just took off very, very quickly, back the way they had come.

 

***

 

On Stiles’s second day at work sticking firmly to the kitchen, baking furiously in a haze of flour, Scott burst through the doors to the back room and stage whispered, “Hey, dude, Derek’s here.”

He gestured as if Stiles was supposed to follow, but instead he sighed and rested his hands on the table beside the dough he’d been kneading. He’d been dreading this. Having to tell Scott about… what happened. He’d been avoiding telling anyone: afraid talking about it would betray how stupidly wrecked he felt by it.

“Yeah, I heard. Look, buddy, can you just tell him I’m not here?”

“What?”

“Please?”

“I already told him you were back here.”

“Well just. Tell him I’m on lunch or something, okay?”

“Stiles,” Scott said, brows furrowed in a question Stiles wasn’t ready to give him the answer to. “Okay. But we’re gonna talk about this.”

Stiles nodded and swiped a plasticky, gloved hand across his face, smearing it with flour and dough. He groaned, frustrated, and ripped his gloves off as he stomped to the bathroom to wash up. He could barely look at his reflection, but he scrubbed at his face until it was red and his hair was all wet in the front, completely ruining his half-assed attempt at styling it away from his forehead that morning.

Thankfully, Scott left him alone for awhile, at least until Kira’s shift started. When he found Stiles, he was taking a much-needed break and shoveling eclairs in his face like it was his job. Well, it was part of his job, sort of, so take _that_ self-loathing.

“Dude, what the hell happened?”

He took a seat beside Stiles and looked at him, intently. Stiles was slumped on the table, mouth ridiculously full of pastry. He sighed and chewed most of the way through before he wiped his hand across his mouth to chase the chocolate frosting that was very likely all over it.

“Nothing,” Stiles spat, then sighed. “I mean. Not nothing. He, sort of... turned me down, I guess.”

Scott paused, a look of abject shock spreading across his face. “What?!”

“Are you… honestly that surprised?”

“Well, yeah, kind of. Dude. What happened?”

“I. I asked him to go with me to the fall fest and he said no. Kind of. I donno. He said he wanted me to come, but like, as friends I think? I don’t know if I can do friends, dude. Maybe I can, I mean, I did with Lydia, right? But this is… different.”

“You’re in love with him.”

“No. I don’t know. I’m not like you, Scotty, I don’t just… but I guess there are, you know… feelings. Maybe. A little bit.”

“Bro,” Scott said, sadly.

“Yeah.”

Stiles was too busy staring at the plate of eclairs in front of him to prepare for the sudden weight of his best friend trying to smother him to death with a hug. But it only took a second for him to melt into it. He buried his face in Scott’s neck and fisted his hands in the back of Scott’s shirt.

“He doesn’t deserve you, dude.”

Stiles snorted wetly and said, “Thanks, buddy.”

“You want me to beat him up for you?” Malia said next to them.

He looked up at her, not even that surprised she’d been listening in and said, “No, I don’t want you to beat him up.”

“You sure? I think I could take him.”

“I have a sword,” Kira chimed in, head popping through the doorway.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He thumped Scott on the back and pulled out of his embrace. “I’m fine, really.”

Scott looked at him, doubt etched across his face. Stiles rolled his eyes and shooed them all out with his hands. “C’mon, are we running a business here, or what? Buncha slackers, all of you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Scott said, clapping him on the shoulder.

 

***

 

On Saturday, Stiles had planted himself in bed, with no intention of coming out. His phone rang and he groaned, pulled his comforter over his head and curled up in a ball. If he thought he’d gotten used to the idea of Derek’s rejection, his devastation had only redoubled come the first day of the festival.

After days and days of groveling, Scott had agreed to bring the pie over with Kira, instead of him. It was clear they thought he should go, anyway, but the hell with what they thought. Stiles was a grown-ass man who was capable of making his own life choices, thank you very much.

The phone vibrating against his bedside table only served to make him cocoon himself further in his blanket nest. He knew that ringtone. He’d assigned it to Derek’s contact info after they’d exchanged numbers, and Stiles was _not_ answering it. Which okay, maybe that made him pathetic, and yeah, he _said_ he’d be there, but fuck it. If Derek wanted to be friends, he’d have to do it on Stiles’s time. The heartbreak was still _fresh_ , dammit. It was still bleeding, sluggishly, not even scabbed over, and Derek would just have to deal with that.

A few minutes later, Stiles fell back into a fitful sleep but was startled awake by the sound of Scott’s ringtone. Stiles groaned loudly enough that it echoed down the hallway. He threw the covers off himself, swiped his phone off the table and answered it.

“What.”

“Stiles,” Scott said, in that tone that Stiles just knew it meant he was trying to be gentle but convincing and he was _not_ falling for it.

“No.”

“Stiles I think you should come to the festival.”

Stiles sat up and let his legs dangle off the side of the bed. He rubbed a hand over his face. “ _No_ , dude, we’ve been over this.”

“I know, and believe me when I say I understand. But you’re just gonna have to trust me on this, dude. You’re gonna wanna be here, okay? I talked to Derek--”

“Scott, seriously--”

“Come on, bro.”

“I don’t want to talk to Derek! Okay? I don’t want to see Derek or be around Derek, just, please, dude. Leave me alone to wallow in my misery.”

“Stiles, I don’t think he meant to reject you, okay? He’s like, really upset you’re not here.”

“...He is?”

“Yeah dude, just. Show up. I don’t know if he wants to be more than friends or whatever, but it might work out, man. What have you got to lose?”

Stiles fell silent. He guessed there was a slight chance he’d misread things, and what if, _what if_ Derek wanted what Stiles wanted? Or, at least, a rough approximation of it. If he didn’t go, maybe Derek would stop seeking Stiles out, stop coming in to buy donuts, delete his number, and avoid him when he went to visit his dad, and maybe he’d never get another chance to find out if they could _be_ something. Stiles also knew Scott was hiding something from him. He was never a very good liar, even by omission. And that, more than anything, made Stiles curious.

“Dammit. I hate you,” he grumbled.

He could practically hear Scot perk up over the phone. “Is that a yes?”

“I hate you _so much_.”

“Love you too, bro. Get here soon though, like, before noon.”

“What? Why?”

“I gotta go, see you when you get here!”

“Scott?” Stiles asked the sudden silence on the other end of the line. “Fuck.”

Reluctantly, Stiles opened his text messages. There was a few from Scott, but first he opened the one from Derek. _I hope you can make it today._

_I have a surprise for you._

Stiles didn’t know what to say to that, so he set his phone down and left it unanswered.

And then, stumbling into the bathroom, despite himself, Stiles felt hope surge in his chest. He took a more intensive shower than he’d taken in days, and spent some time on his hair. Then, standing naked in front of the mirror, Stiles catalogued his appearance.

It wasn’t that Stiles hadn’t noticed he was putting on some weight. He’d definitely noticed, especially after the barbecue, but suddenly he was confronted with how _fat_ he looked. Well, chubby anyway. Chubbier than he’d ever been, even during college. Shocking pink stretch marks lined his belly on the sides. Just a few, but enough to make him wonder just how much weight he’d gained.

He glanced at the scale in the corner of his bathroom and chewed on his lips. _Later_ , he thought. Right now he had to go see Derek and he had to look like he’d never had his still-beating heart ripped out of his chest.

He picked out clothes in a rush: jeans that felt a little pinchy, a t-shirt that clung to his belly, flannel that didn’t have a hope in hell of buttoning. Stiles knew that was pretty much the best he was going to get, but he felt constricted, self-conscious. He tugged at the hem of the shirt, and though it covered all his skin, Stiles could tell it was much shorter than it had been when he bought it.

Stiles barely gave his outfit a cursory glance before bounding down the stairs and hopping in the Jeep. It was 11:40. At the back of his mind something was nagging at him, something about the time he was supposed to be there, but it was swirling around with a million other panicked thoughts, so by the time Stiles got there, dropped his car off in the crowded, grassy parking lot and made his way in, he still hadn’t realized what it was.

 

Scott intercepted him by the ticket booth before he got in line, shoving a paper event bracelet in his hand. “Come on, dude, we’re gonna be late!”

“Late for _what_?” Stiles let himself be dragged like he was reluctant, but the truth was he was getting kinda _excited_. Scott led him through a bunch of attractions: a pumpkin patch, booths, rides, and food that smelled so good Stiles half thought of asking if they could stop for a funnel cake first.

Scott slowed down as they came to a crowd gathered in front of a small platform. On the platform was a long table with chairs lined across one side. The banner in front of it read “67th Annual Beacon County Pie Eating Contest” and Stiles’s jaw dropped to the floor.

“Wha…”

Stiles looked at his friend, trying to figure out what the sly expression on his face meant, when his stomach bottomed out in realization. “What are we doing here, Scott?”

Scott nodded his head up towards the stage. It was a couple of seconds before Stiles spotted him over the crowd, waiting off to the side of the platform with five other people, plastic bibs around their necks. “Oh my _god_.”

“He wanted to surprise you.”

“I’m. I’m surprised,” Stiles murmured, heart stuttering.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles noticed Malia coming up to stand on his other side, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of Derek.

A man with a mustache climbed on the stage, microphone in hand, tapped on it obnoxiously and yelled, “Listen up! Hey!” He pointed at one of the volunteers wearing an event t-shirt, and Stiles had a sudden series of flashbacks of the man yelling at him on a lacrosse field. Sans mustache. Stiles might have laughed if he wasn’t still in shock. “Shut! It!” Finstock screeched. “Welcome to the Sixty-Seventh Annual Beacon County Pie Eating Contest!”

The crowd erupted in cheers. Stiles noticed his mouth was still hanging wide open and he snapped it shut.

“Contestants, get your asses up on the stage!” He paused as a woman offstage said something to him. “Sorry, sorry. No asses. This is a family friendly event. Now get your sorry tuchases up here!”

The six contestants walked up and sat in chairs facing the audience. “Beside the stage you will see a cart of _delicious_ pumpkin pies provided by Petit Four Bakery.” Scott and Malia clapped and cheered. “They each weigh _exactly_ three pounds. The contestants before you will eat as much pie as they can physically stomach within the time limit of three minutes. They will not touch the pie or the table at any time! So, to ensure that, my lovely assistant, Rita will be tying them up. And before you ask: no, it’s not a bondage thing. ”

A woman behind the table went from person to person, tying their hands behind their backs as Finstock went on. “Any contestant observed hiding their pie, dropping pieces of the pie under the table, or placing any portion of their pie on another contestant’s plate, will be immediately _disqualified!_ Contestants must keep their pie down and show no visible signs of sickness, or they will be disqualified. Seriously, do not throw up, or I will throw up on you. It won’t be pretty. The winner will be the contestant that consumes the most pie after the three minutes has expired. In the event of a tie, we will weigh the remaining pies to determine who is Beacon County’s Next Top Pie Eating Champion!”

Derek was between a woman at least twice his size and a thin, wiry man. He looked _good_ , burgundy henley stretching out at his beefy shoulders. His eyes flickered across the audience before they locked with Stiles’s. Stiles lifted up his hand in an almost-wave and smiled, small and awestruck. The grin Derek sent back at him was _blinding_. Stiles felt his heart stutter, so jarring his hand came up to stroke over his chest.

The grin didn’t leave Derek’s face as a few helpers set a row of pumpkin pies on the table. Or as Finstock left the stage and said, “Alright, losers, get ready to eat! On the count of three! One, two, three! Eat up! Get in there!”

Without hesitation, Derek slammed his face down into the pie. He looked practiced and sure, and suddenly, Stiles was hit by the realization that Derek must have been _training_ for this. With _Stiles’s_ _pies_. No wonder he gorged on so many of them lately. _Fuck_. He couldn’t watch this. It was too much, and Stiles was going to pop a boner watching a fucking pie eating contest, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Derek was furiously competitive and inhaled his food with _greed_ . Like he couldn’t get enough, like all he wanted was _more_. He moved on to his second pie long before anyone else finished their first, and in the space between, Stiles caught a glimpse of his face, unashamedly covered in pie filling, dripping down onto his bib. “Oh my god,” Stiles said.

He was dimly aware of Finstock screeching into his microphone, narrating the event, but all Stiles heard was the white noise of his heart pounding too-loud in his ears. He was vibrating, captivated by watching Derek make a public spectacle out of himself in such an extreme show of gluttony and Stiles was still too in shock to work out why he was even there. Why Derek had needled until he had gotten out of bed and came to watch this. He couldn’t know what sweet, delicious torture it was, could he? Stiles swiped a hand across his face, struggling to appear as neutral as everyone else did, even though he was so, incredibly, forcefully turned on, he was dizzy with it.

Stiles’s stomach was a mess of butterflies and he wanted, more than anything, to have a view of Derek’s belly swelling under the mass of food he was recklessly inhaling. His fingers itched as if they wanted to feel it. To stroke Derek’s gut like Derek had done for him what felt like ages ago.

Derek gulped back that second entire pie, barely stopping before he shoved his face into another. Stiles let out a sound embarrassingly close to a whimper and he prayed the noise of the crowd was loud enough to cover it.

“You’re into some weird shit, Stiles,” Malia said, next to him.

He was saved from having to respond by Finstock shouting, “Time! Everyone stop! What’s in your mouth counts! What’s in your mouth counts! Greenberg, I said time; don’t make me come over there!”

Derek sat back against his chair, looking smug and licking his lips clean. From the angle Stiles was at, he could _just_ make out the crest of Derek’s gut jutting out proudly in front of him. He shifted, painfully aroused, when Derek’s eyes caught his. Stiles realized he was gnawing on his bottom lip, probably looking flushed and way too obvious. He offered Derek a smile and two thumbs up, and that’s when the judges had finished deliberating. Finstock yelled, “And the winner of the Sixty-Seventh Annual Beacon County Pie Eating Contest is Deputy Derek Hale, with a whopping six point three pounds of pumpkin pie in our time limit of three minutes! That’s! How! It’s! Done!”

Stiles’s mouth dropped open and he must’ve stopped breathing because his head was swimming and Scott thumped him on the shoulder saying, “You okay, buddy?”

“Uhm. Ah. Ff.”

Finstock gestured at Derek until he stood up on wobbly, unsteady legs, and raised his arm above his head in triumph. The move made Derek’s belly plop out of the bottom of his shirt. It looked surprisingly blubbery and unsurprisingly fuzzy, and Stiles wanted to sink his _teeth_ into it.

“Congratulations, Derek! I knew you had it in you! If they’d let me join the betting pool, I’d be a rich man right now. Which they definitely _didn’t_ , because that would be totally unethical,” Finstock said with a wink, pinning a large blue ribbon onto Derek’s shirt.

A part of Stiles wanted to get the hell out of there, run back home where he could jerk off in peace and then maybe cry or something. But he stayed, frozen in place, watching as they awarded second and third place and the contestants ambled off stage.

“You should go talk to him,” Scott said.

A look of horror must have crossed Stiles’s face, because Scott rolled his eyes at him and pushed him towards the place where he’d seen Derek disappear to. “Come on, dude. Stop being ridiculous. You came all the way here. Just go say hi. See what happens.”

Scott’s smile was stupidly encouraging and Stiles hated it. He was too nervous and hot, but he said, “Fine. Fine. I’m going. Jesus.”

He rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans and made his way through the crowd. Scott yelled, “Good luck, bro!”

Stiles looked for Derek long enough that he felt a little nauseous from the smell of fried foods and hay bales and the masses of people and he almost gave up. Which was to say, about two minutes. But that was when he spotted him on a bench next to a fried candy booth, leaned all the way back with a hand caressing his stomach, trying to soothe the ache he no doubt had after close to _six and a half pounds of food_.

Stiles didn’t approach for another minute or so, and only then because Derek spotted him where he was sort-of, kind-of, maybe hiding by another booth. Derek looked hesitant and Stiles’s nerves kicked up with renewed energy, but he took a deep breath and walked over to stand in front of Derek. He looked massively bloated up close, maybe even more so than he’d been at the barbecue. Stiles licked his lips and kept his hands in his pockets.

“Hey, Deputy.”

“You came,” Derek said, voice soft.

“Yeah.”

“Haven’t seen you since--”

“The park. I know. Sorry.”

“Don’t be, I was--”

“No, it’s. It’s fine, okay? I just thought...”

“What?”

Stiles almost told him, then. Almost. But he was feeling wrong footed and slightly terrified. It had taken everything he had to go over and talk to him, so instead he said, “No, nothing, never mind. Hey, great job up there.”

“Stiles--”

Stiles sat down on the bench beside him and pat the big blue ribbon on his chest. “Pie eating champion, huh? I feel like I should’ve seen this coming from all the pie you buy from me.”

Derek snorted, and let him drop the subject even though his eyes said he still wanted to talk about it. “Probably.”

Stiles snatched his hand away when he realized it had been on Derek for too long and he really, really, wanted to inch his hand just a little bit lower. He licked his lips, tried to aim for ‘friendly yet unaffected,’ as if he hadn’t just watched the man perform what, to Stiles, may as well have been a sex act on stage at a fucking county-wide festival. “You, uh. You been training for this awhile?”

“A couple of months, give or take. Some guys at the station gave me the idea. Said I could put away more food than any of them without breaking a sweat. And then Parrish bet me I wouldn’t win, so.”

Stiles’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. A couple months was not nearly long enough for how _good_ he was at this. And how far back Stiles knew he’d been gorging himself on Stiles’s baked goods. Not just a competitive eater, then. He was still, mostly, a huge glutton. Emphasis on huge.

“How much does he owe you?”

“I don’t even know. There was a betting pool, actually. Whole department was in on it.”

“I honestly don’t know how anyone could bet against you, dude.”

“Beats me. But now I got plenty of money for more of your pie. It’s starting to cost me, you know.”

Stiles just managed to hold his tongue against the urge to offer to make anything Derek wanted for free, anytime. Instead he said, “It wouldn’t if you ate like a normal person.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Good point.”

“So do you… still wanna do the whole festival thing?”

Stiles chewed on his lip, eyes focused past Derek’s shoulder so he wouldn’t have to look him in the eye when he said, “As friends, or?”

“Yeah. Friends.”

Stiles nodded, absently, heart plummeting to his feet. He thought about turning down the offer, but he didn’t want that to be it, between them. And he appreciated Derek trying, he really did. So he found himself saying, “Okay. Yeah.” The silence between them, after that, was deafening. Predictably, Stiles was the first to break it. “So. How come you didn’t say anything? About the contest?”

“I guess I wanted it to be a surprise.”

But Stiles already knew that. What he didn’t know was _why_ , but it didn’t seem like Derek was in the mood to be forthcoming. Stiles would get it out of him, eventually. “Thanks for that,” he said. “I’ve never seen someone eat that much in one sitting before. No wonder you’re getting so pudgy.”

Derek looked so self-satisfied at that, it was making Stiles feel things he probably shouldn’t be.

“It’s pretty impressive.”

“You think so?”

“It’s unbecoming to fish for compliments, Derek.”

Derek laughed and Stiles couldn’t help but watch the way his belly bounced when he did. Stiles ran his fingers through his hair and said, “So, uh, do you think you could stand to watch me stuff _my_ face now? I haven’t had breakfast. Watching you eat all that pie made me hungry.”

“I think I can manage.”

“Great!”

Stiles bounded to his feet, anxious to break the weird tension between them. And then, he made the mistake of turning to Derek, who was struggling to heave his mercilessly stuffed gut off the bench. Stiles reached out a hand to help him up and wrapped it around Derek’s. He pulled him to his feet, and wound up with Derek right in his space, belly brushing against Stiles’s.

Derek burped into his fist. “Sorry,” he said.

He hoped that in the state he was in, Derek didn’t notice the way Stiles swayed as his knees buckled. Stiles thumped him on the shoulder and said, “Don’t worry about it, dude. Six and a half pounds of pie in there, it’s bound to happen.” He started walking so he didn’t have to look at him more than necessary, or it was gonna get into ogling territory, and fast.

“Six point three.”

“Oh yeah, sorry. That’s nothing, then. I have half a mind to take that ribbon away from you.”

“Uh huh. Well, you can try and win it off me next year.”

Stiles’s brain short circuited so completely thinking about it that he stopped walking for a second.

“Stiles?”

“Um.” Stiles shook his head and continued towards the funnel cake stand he’d passed on the way in. “As you so often like to say, I don’t think I’m quite at your level, man.”

“You’ve got potential. Just need some practice.”

“You offering to train me?”

“I can’t train you, I’m your competition.”

“Fine. Don’t help. I’ll figure it out myself, then.”

“I have no doubt.”

Stiles pulled Derek into the line at the funnel cake stand, eying the kettle corn, too, because, well. Derek had made enough of a glutton of himself already, Stiles felt like he was entitled to a free pass. “Okay, well, I feel like I should definitely start with a funnel cake, how does that sound?”

Derek’s face scrunched up in disgust and Stiles laughed. “Okay, none for you, big guy. Got it. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you say no to food. I didn’t know it was possible.”

“It doesn’t happen very often. Savor it while you’ve got the chance.”

Stiles glanced down at Derek’s belly. He was savoring alright. “Sure I can’t tempt you? I’m buying.”

“Maybe later.”

“Just say the word, dude. I, for one, want a little of everything.”

 

Later in the afternoon, Stiles had half-nervously, half-greedily plowed through his funnel cake, a bag of kettle corn, a candy apple, two corn dogs, and a cup of apple cider as he and Derek wandered around the festival. He was pleasantly full with a plate piled high with nachos in his arms. Stiles had just finally managed to convince Derek to buy something, even if it was only cotton candy.   
  
They sat on a bench by the pumpkin patch to eat. Stiles pulled off a piece of pink and blue fluff from Derek’s treat and licked it from his fingers, sugar melting on his tongue. The jack-o-lantern painted on Stiles’s cheek pulled as he moved his mouth.

“See the problem is,” Stiles said. “When you eat like that, like, until you’re completely full, your stomach still needs room for water and the expansion of gasses that help you digest, right? So, since you already used up all that room, your stomach expands. It has no choice. After a meal your stomach can expand to like, many times its original size.”

Stiles paused to stick a precariously loaded nacho chip in his mouth and spoke around the food. “And then when it’s all swelled up, it’s like, pressing against your lungs, and that’s why you feel out of breath. But since it’s hard to breathe, there’s less oxygen going to your brain and it makes you sleepy. Too sleepy to work it off right away, usually. So all those extra calories just settle in.”

Derek was looking at Stiles actually _attentively_ as he rambled. No one did that. Not _ever._ It gave him an incredible rush.

“And the more often you fill your stomach like that, the more it stretches out, you know, like any muscle. So you need _more_ food to feel full, and even _more_ to feel stuffed, and all that extra food energy has to go somewhere, right? Like right here.” Stiles poked a finger into Derek’s lower belly, marveling at the way it just sunk right in. “Or here,” he says, tracing over one of Derek’s love handles.

Derek smacked Stiles’s hand away and turned a satisfying, flushed pink. Stiles laughed. “Were you going somewhere with this?” Derek said.

“Yeah. ‘S why we’re getting fat, big guy.” Stiles took a big bite of nachos. “At this point it’s like, inevitable. Might as well enjoy the ride.”

“You know you don’t _have_ to eat like that all the time, right?”

“That is _hilarious_ coming from you, buddy.”

“I was in training.”

“Oh, of course. And now? You’re just gonna stop?”

“Probably not,” Derek admitted.

“Exactly, dude.”

“Actually. Is it bad that this conversation is making me hungry?”

Stiles’s jaw dropped. “Hungry?”

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s been at least a couple of hours.”

“Well let’s go and find you something to eat then, Deputy.” Stiles stood up, grabbing Derek’s free hand and pulling him to his feet.

 

Suddenly it was late afternoon. Or it must have been. Actually, Stiles had no idea how long it had been. It almost felt like no time had passed at all, but the sun was getting lower and lower in the sky.

They’d gotten a couple slices of pizza, took a run through the haunted house, had a couple of big, doughy pretzels, and Stiles had the genuine privilege of watching Derek kick ass at the test your strength game. Stiles’s belly was gurgling, not quite stuffed, but definitely overfull and severely bloated from hours of near constant eating. His stomach was jutting out in front of him and bouncing as he walked.

So of course, that’s when Derek said, “Hey, Stiles,” and pointed over at a flashy booth with a big analog scale next to it. The sign read _Guess Your Weight, Guess Your Age._

Stiles’s stomach swooped in anticipation. It sounded a little embarrassing, but the idea of getting to know _Derek’s_ weight was too enticing to pass up, even if it meant doing his own, too. In public, in front of random spectators.

“I’m game if you are.”

Derek grinned, wide and shark-like. “Definitely.”

“Come on over,” The woman running the booth said. “We guess age, weight, and birthday month. You fool me on the guess, you win a prize, come on.”

Stiles grabbed Derek’s arm and pulled him over. “We’d like to try.”

“Alright, sweetie, what are your names?”

“Stiles.”

“Derek”.

“My name’s Jolene. What would you like me to guess for ya today?”

“Weight,’ Stiles said, too quickly. “Um. You wanna go first?”

“Sure,” Derek said.

Jolene held out her palm. “Alright, Derek, that’ll be three dollars.”

Derek pulled out his wallet and counted out six dollars. “For him, too,” he said.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“Okay, Derek,” Jolene said. “Let me check the junk in that trunk, come on, turn around, that’s right.”

Stiles wolf-whistled to annoy him.

Derek glared as he spun around, holding his arms out. And Stiles couldn’t stop himself from eying Derek the same way Jolene was doing, now that he could. It was probably just his imagination but Derek looked even just slightly bigger than he had at Stiles’s barbecue, and that had only been three weeks ago. He looked so, so, soft. Juicy love handles spilled out over the waistband of his jeans. His henley was tight enough around his swollen gut that Stiles could make out the hollow of his navel and how his belly hung just slightly over his pants. His thighs were massive and strong-looking, and god, that ass. Stiles shifted from foot to foot in a nervous dance, covered his mouth with his hand, and tried not to look too obviously interested.  
  
Jolene hummed, thumb and forefinger poised on her chin. “Okay, let’s go with two, hmm… two fifty, two sixty? Two sixty-five. Two sixty-five. I have to be within three.”

Derek smirked. “Okay, should I…?”  By Derek’s smug expression, she had to be overestimating, but Stiles hoped she wasn’t. It sounded like such a good number.

“Yep,” Jolene said. “Go ahead and hop on the scale, we’ll see how close I was.”

Derek stepped up and the needle shot all the way around, bouncing back and forth and back and forth until it settled in the 200s, and then the mid 200s. Stiles stepped closer so he could see the little dividing lines.

It leveled out at 269.

Stiles couldn’t breathe. Fuck, that sounded _big_ and so close to 300. At the rate Derek was going, he’d blow right past that in no time.

“Woo-ee,” Jolene said. “Alright big boy, looks like you fooled me. Just barely, though. Two hundred and sixty-nine pounds!”

“Wow,” Derek murmured.

Stiles threw his hands up for a double high-five. “You won!”

Derek rolled his eyes, but slapped his hands anyway.

“Yeah, you win, honey,” Jolene said. She gestured at the wall of stuffed animals behind her. “Any prize you like.”

“Pick one out, Stiles,” Derek said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

“ _Awesome_.” Stiles squinted at the shelf, deliberating very seriously before pointing at a big, fat, pink pig. “Oh yeah, that one, definitely.”

“Nice choice.” Jolene winked and handed it over.

Stiles blinked innocently at Derek, cuddling his plush pig. Derek glared, but there was a little twitch of a smile tugging at his lips.

“You trying to tell me something?” Derek said.

“Pfft. No. This is just the cutest one, don’t you think?”

“Sure.”

Jolene was speaking to another customer, so Stiles turned back to Derek while they waited. “Soo... you seemed surprised, dude. Weight not quite what you thought it’d be?” Stiles said.

“Yeah, I.” Derek looked down. “I haven’t weighed myself in awhile.”

Stiles felt kind of bad, then, thinking maybe Derek wasn't as into it as he seemed. “Come on, Derek, you look good.”

“It’s not that.” Derek smiled a little and Stiles relaxed. That is, until Derek stroked over the surface of his belly and said, “I just didn’t realize how fat I was getting. It’s not bad, just… more than I thought.”

Stiles’s heart thumped in his chest. “Yeah I kinda got that impression. You know, just from how you’re always talking about how we’re around the same size.”

Derek looked at Stiles like he was confused by the very existence of him. It was a look Stiles got pretty often, but he wasn’t sure why he was getting it right then. “Yeah, I think it’s time for your turn, now,” Derek said.

“Okay, okay.”

“You up next?” Jolene said, turning back to them.

“Yep. Go ahead, do your worst.”

“Hmm.” She twirled her finger at him. “Give me a little spin, cutie.”

Stiles handed his plush over to Derek. “Hold my piggy.”

He shimmied around, wiggling his hips, pulled his flannel away from his body to give her a better look. When he turned back, Derek’s eyes were heavy on him and Stiles felt his skin prickle with goosebumps. Instinctively, he tried to pull his flannel closed, but it was a few inches shy of being able to do that comfortably, and had been for longer than Stiles would care to admit. Stiles cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets instead.

“Two...twenty. Hmm. Thirty-one. Two thirty-one. Alright, let’s see. Hop on that scale for me.”

There was no way Stiles could have been 40 pounds over his college weight, so he felt pretty confident he was getting a win, until he stepped on the scale and the needle pinged back and forth a few times before it settled on 233 exactly.

“Two thirty-three. Only two pounds off. Better luck next time, honey,” Jolene said.

“I do not weigh… come on. No way.”

“Have you been snacking?” Jolene said. “Might’ve been all those funnel cakes, and corn dogs, cream puffs...”

Stiles perked up. He said, “There are cream puffs?” at almost exactly the same time as Derek said, “You have no idea.”

Stiles felt the flush spread over his face and spun around to glare at Derek. “Ha ha. Very funny, coming from a man who just ate six and a half pounds of pie plus ‘snacks.’”

Derek held out his hand like he wanted to help Stiles down off the scale. Stiles took it, even though it was only like a foot tall. “Six point three,” Derek said.

“I take it you were in the pie eating contest?” Jolene said.

Stiles gripped Derek’s shoulder, feeling proud. “You’re talking to the _winner_ , actually.”

“Congratulations, sweetie! Pretty brave of him to get weighed after all that, huh?”

“So true. Thanks, Jolene.”

“Y’all have a good day. Thanks for playing. Alright who’s next?”

“C’mon, Derek. Might as well get a fried Twinkie or something next, since I’m already fat, apparently.” Derek gave Stiles back his piggy plush and Stiles poked him in the chest. “Don’t look so smug. You’re still heavier than me, dude.”

“I’m not _that_ much heavier than you.”

“I mean, forty pounds is kind of a lot.”

“Thirty-six.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Semantics. It’s adorable how in denial you are, honestly.”

Actually, if Stiles was being honest with himself, they were closer in weight than he’d expected. Less than 40 pounds was _considerably_ less what he had been thinking. Stiles guessed he was well and truly fat, then. Or at least getting there. The man next to him looked _big_. And if Derek was a shade taller and had probably 15 pounds of sheer muscle on him, Stiles could only guess how fat he looked in comparison. It sent a shiver through him: that faint, sizzling feeling he was getting lately when he ate too much or had trouble squeezing into his clothes.

True to his word, he led Derek over to the fried candy booth. The Reese’s caught his eye first, but as the person behind the counter fried up his candy, Stiles found himself gawking at the menu. It listed calorie counts for each item. The deep fried Reese’s were 125 calories each, 250 per serving. A lot considering their size, but not too bad.

The highest was the deep fried Twinkie, at a whopping 420 calories _each_. Blaze it.

Stiles had to have one. He wasn’t prepared to examine it, but deep down, he knew why. “Um, and a fried Twinkie, too, please,” Stiles told the person behind the booth.

“Sure,” they said.

Derek raised his eyebrows at Stiles and Stiles raised them right back. He reached out a finger to poke at the first place ribbon still proudly displayed on Derek’s chest. “The _audacity_ to give me that look after the show you put on today.”

“You trying to catch up to me, or what?”

Stiles’s mouth fell open but didn’t let himself think over _that_ for more than a second. “ _No_ , I just don’t need your judgy, judgy eyebrows.”

“Not judging. Just, with how the weigh-in went, you _still_ want to get fried Twinkies? Anyone would think you _like_ getting fat.”

Stiles’s rebuttal died in his throat to make room for a series of unintelligible, indignant noises. Derek’s barely suppressed amusement blossomed into a full, smug grin. “That--” Stiles said, “I’m. You.” He scoffed, face hot and he was sure, burning red and splotchy, and turned to the person behind the counter to take his fried candy treats. “Shut up.”

The Reese’s came in a set of two, both on sticks in a paper holder. “Here,” Stiles said, handing them to Derek so he could hold the Twinkie and dust everything with powdered sugar.

“I am not eating that.”

“Uh, _no_ , you aren’t. This is all for me.”

That stupid grin was on Derek’s gorgeous, stupid face, so Stiles said, “You already had enough for today, don’t you think?” He winked and used his free hand to give a quick pat to Derek’s belly.

Stiles’s heart hammered in his throat and he coughed to chase away the feeling. His palm tingled with the desire to _touch_ , the soft, doughy feel of Derek’s belly seared into his skin. Sometimes he didn’t completely think things through.

“Hmm,” Derek said, mock thoughtfully. “I’m not so sure about that.”

He swiped one of Stiles’s Reese’s from the container and took a big bite, dripping with melted chocolate. “Mmm. ‘S good.”

Stiles stared with his mouth open, split evenly between offended and turned on. “Wow, dude. Get your own. What happened to ‘I’m not eating that’?”

“Changed my mind.”

 

The ferris wheel carriage was small; it only had enough room for him and Derek, with a little leftover for Stiles to squish his stuffed piggy between his hip and the metal side. Which meant that they were pressed together, shoulder to thigh. Stiles shivered and if asked, he would have blamed it on the cool autumn breeze.

The view of the twinkling lights of the festival grounds spreading into Beacon Hills was breathtaking. When he had suggested it, Stiles was only thinking of how much he enjoyed rides and looking at the city from up high, and he didn’t account for the terrible, annoying _romance_ of it.

Maybe it was cliche, but Stiles had a soft spot in his heart for cliche. He would have killed for the day to have been a non-platonic date where he’d be able to put his arm around Derek’s shoulders and whisper sweet nothings in his ear. Or whatever it it was people did on romantic ferris wheel rides. Instead, they sat there in oppressive silence until the ride stopped, halfway up. The effervescence Stiles felt from spending the day with Derek faded out between one breath and the next and he felt hollow, despite still being just slightly too full.  
  
Stiles bit his lip, kept his hands clasped tight around the safety bar. He could feel Derek’s eyes on him and he blurted out the question that had been at the back of his mind since he showed up at the pie eating contest. “Why did you really ask me to come here, Derek?”

Derek didn’t say anything for long enough that for a moment Stiles thought he wasn’t going to. He looked up just as Derek tried to lean forward on the safety bar, but winced as it jabbed him in the gut. Derek said, “When you didn’t show up, I talked to Scott. And then I thought you might have… gotten the wrong idea. When I told you I couldn’t come to the festival with you.”

“Oh.” Stiles said. “Thought you were brushing me off.”

“I wasn’t. It wasn’t because of you…”

“I mean I get that _now_.” The ferris wheel started up again, carried them higher, ever so slowly. The sunset was a brilliant orange and purple, being pushed out by a mass of dark clouds. It felt ominous, and Stiles was suddenly afraid to know the real answer. Stiles looked at the sky instead of Derek’s face when he said, “Looks like it’s gonna rain.”

“Stiles. I asked you today because I wanted you to know why I said no the first time. And--and I did want you to be here.”

“But?”

“But nothing.”

He finally turned back to Derek and said, “You’re an asshole.” He’d meant it to come out with more bite, instead it just sounded… fond, if slightly exasperated. He was a mess. “Why didn’t you just tell me that you were doing the pie eating contest like a normal person?”

Derek at least had the decency to look sheepish. He ducked his head and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I just. I wanted it to be a surprise. I thought, maybe…” While Derek paused, Stiles tried to fill in the blanks, but he couldn’t put it together in a way that made sense, unless. Unless Derek knew. About Stiles. About everything. “It seems stupid, now. I should have told you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Stiles fidgeted in his seat, making the carriage swing and his thigh press more firmly against Derek’s. He felt anticipation simmer in his gut, something like hope, maybe. But he had more questions. He _always_ had more questions. “So did you? I mean. You wanted to go with me.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “I thought that would be obvious by now.”

Stiles took a deep breath and steeled himself. “Then did you know that I wanted it to be. Kind of. A date?”

“You did?” Derek’s face closed off, and it made Stiles’s heart pound frantically, panicked.

“Yeah, shit, I mean. I thought you were giving me, like, signals? Like, maybe we were flirting. Which is weird, I know, I mean it was--But if you weren’t, that’s totally. Totally _fine_ , honestly. It doesn’t need to be weird or anything, okay? It’s fine--”

“Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

Derek leaned in slowly. Slowly enough to give Stiles warning. Slowly enough that Stiles shouldn’t have felt a jolt of shock when their lips met, tender and soft, but he was still so completely _unprepared_. His stomach swooped dangerously, and by the time he got on board, Derek was already leaning away again. Stiles made an embarrassing little sound and swayed forward, trying to chase Derek’s lips, blinked his eyes open, and said, “Oh, shit.”

Derek smiled and huffed out a breath. Something that would’ve been a laugh if it had made a sound. He grabbed Stiles’s face in both hands and pulled him back in. Stiles fell into him, braced himself by holding on to the front of Derek’s shirt. Derek kissed him like he needed it and Stiles couldn’t tell if the ride was moving or it was just his equilibrium being thrown off by a kiss so completely devastating, he was pretty sure he’d never recover. Heat raced through his veins with Derek’s hands on him, his lips, and it was perfect; Stiles never wanted it to end.

Thunder cracked through the sky and Stiles startled but didn’t stop kissing Derek, not for a second. Even when rain drops started peppering the roof of the carriage, or when they started falling in, soaking through their jeans and splashing their skin. All Stiles cared about was Derek’s tongue against his, the way his stubble scratched against Stiles’s lips, and the way his kisses made Stiles come alive.

When he pulled back, Stiles felt gutted from the inside out. Derek panted against Stiles’s face, forehead pressed to his, eyelashes stuck together with water and shut tight. Stiles felt like he was falling and it took him a long time to realize it was the ride taking them back down to the ground.

Stiles told himself that meant it was about time he and Derek got out of each other’s space, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to. “So that was…”

“Yeah,” Derek said.

Stiles unclenched his fist where it was still tangled in Derek’s shirt, and smoothed the material out over his chest. When they made it to the bottom, the attendant unfastened the safety bar and let them out, saying something about safety instructions that Stiles did not pay any attention to. Stiles stood up on shaky legs and Derek grabbed his hand, flashed him a smile, and pulled him out into the downpour.

Stiles jogged behind Derek, using the piggy to block the water from his eyes. He was panting, already, no way was he gonna run all the way to his damn car. It was all the way on the other side of the festival.

“Hey, Derek!” he yelled, tugging at Derek’s hand so he’d follow Stiles through an opening in the chain link fence that closed the festival in.

They only had to cut through some trees in the park and cross the street, feet splashing against the pavement, before they came across the bakery. Stiles let go of Derek’s hand to pull out his keys and unlock the door. He exhaled a sigh of relief, let Derek in and locked up behind him.

Stiles looked down at his feet, at the muddy footprints all over his tile floor and made a mental note to clean up extra well the next day. He ran his hand through his hair, pulling the wet strands away from his face. “So, um. About that… thing. That happened.”

Derek took a couple of slow steps closer to him and gave him a look that Stiles supposed was meant to convey innocence. “The thing?” he said.

Derek kept advancing on him, crowding Stiles into the doorway. Stiles took a step back, hitting the glass door. His heart was hammering in his chest and his eyes darted between Derek’s eyes, his lips. “Yeah, the, uh. Thing.”

Even though the lights were off, the neon ‘closed’ sign glowed blue and red in the window, and it was raining hard enough that there was hardly anyone on the street, Stiles and Derek definitely would’ve been in plain sight for anyone who was. But Stiles couldn't find it in himself to care. Derek closed the space between them, bracing his hands against the glass by Stiles’s head, body leaned just far enough away that they weren’t touching at all.

Stiles shivered, cold and wet and itching to get closer. He yanked Derek in, hands on either side of his face, until Derek’s lips crashed into his. Derek fell into him, licking his way into Stiles’s mouth. Their bodies were just barely brushing, still, and Derek’s hands weren’t on him, and it was so _frustrating_. Stiles moved his own hands to Derek’s sides and pulled him closer, as close as he could get.

Stiles moaned, every nerve ending lighting up at the feeling of being pinned with all Derek’s weight, belly pressed against his. He was so _heavy_ , so soft, his sides molded perfectly in Stiles’s hands. Stiles was desperate to touch every inch of him, fingers restless, tracing every plump curve he could find: the ones that wrapped around Derek’s back, the softness over his shoulder blades.

But he needed more; they needed to get away from the windows. Stiles broke the kiss, his head thudding back against the glass as he sucked in a deep, shaky breath. “Derek.” Derek leaned back in and kissed Stiles’s neck all the way to his earlobe. “H-h oh, my god.”

“Yeah, Stiles?”

“We should, we should…”

He kissed Derek again, hard and messy, pushing back against him until he got with the program, shuffling backwards while Stiles led him further inside. In the back room they could have a little more privacy, but Stiles got distracted feeling the round, doughy curves of Derek’s love handles and backed him into the glass of the empty donut display.

He dug his hands under the soaking wet fabric of the shirt sticking to Derek’s skin and grabbed his sides, kneading them, the kiss going slow and languid while every ounce of Stiles’s attention was focused on how Derek _felt_. Stiles trailed his fingers down into the crease where Derek’s belly folded over to make that delicious, fucking beautiful hang. It was so supple, smooth until what he was grasping at was getting dangerously close to Derek’s round, perfect belly.

In the back of his mind, Stiles had this faint idea that maybe he shouldn’t be doing this, or that he should at least ease into it instead of going right for the gold. But Stiles felt too lightheaded to rationalize it. He scratched his short fingernails through the fuzz that gathered further towards the center, felt the heavy weight of that gut on his fingertips, and all he could think was, _finally_.

Derek made this sound in the back of his throat, almost surprised, and the way he kissed him turned hungry. Stiles grabbed Derek’s fat overhang and lifted and it felt so fucking good Stiles wanted to _die_.

In an instant, Derek flipped them around, slamming Stiles into the counter. It hurt a little, was jabbing him uncomfortably in the ass, but Stiles didn’t care because Derek _finally_ looked just as unhinged as Stiles felt and his gut was pressing into him _hard_. Stiles whined, writhing against Derek like he couldn’t stop himself.

Derek growled low in the back of his throat and said, “Do you know how many times I wanted to do this?”

“Ah-h. Once or twice?”

“Try again.”

“Three? Three times?”

“Smart ass.”

Derek’s hands went to Stiles’s ass and squeezed for just a second before he lifted Stiles onto the counter. It put Derek’s fat belly right at level with Stiles’s dick and Stiles hissed, wrapped his arms around Derek’s shoulders, and rested his forehead against Derek’s. He was breathing hard, shaking with the effort of not grinding shamelessly into him. “Shit.”

“You doing okay?” Derek said, amusement all over his voice as he rocked his body against Stiles’s.

“Fuck you, no. God, you know what you’re doing to me, I can, ah, I can see it in your stupid, smug _face_. So just-- _fu-uck_.”

Derek grabbed Stiles’s ass and pulled him towards his belly. “It’s only fair after you’ve been teasing me all fucking day.”

“Me?! I’ve been teasing _you_?! That is hilarious, buddy.”

“Yes, you. God, Stiles.” Derek buried his face in Stiles’s neck, dragging his stubble all over his sensitive skin. He brought his hands around to rest against Stiles’s hips. “You’ve been ridiculous all day, you kept… touching me, and. And you show up in this _outfit_ , Jesus, you drive me crazy.”

“Wh--what’s wrong with my outfit?!”

“Are you kidding me?” Derek growled. He stepped back to give Stiles a heated look up and down. Derek's hands spread warmth in their path up Stiles’s thighs and Stiles couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

“It’s so fucking tight, look at this.” Derek toyed with the fabric on the inside of Stiles’s thighs where it was starting to wear through, wiggled one finger into a hole Stiles didn’t even know was there, and it sunk deep into the doughy flesh that was hidden right behind. Stiles swallowed down the sound he wanted to make, felt heat licking up his neck, his face. “Your thighs are about to rip right through these jeans.”

Derek pulled him off the counter so quickly Stiles almost lost his balance, but he crowded him immediately back against the display case, Derek’s hands smoothing over Stiles’s hips, his _love handles_. He pulled the hem of Stiles’s t-shirt down and then he was gripping Stiles’s wrists, pinning them above his head. Stiles had just enough time to lose his fucking mind at the feeling of Derek holding him down like that before he let him go and his hands were against the suddenly bare skin of Stiles’s belly.

“This shirt hardly even covers you. Every time you reach your arms up, it just...” Stiles made a desperate sound in his throat, eyes sliding shut, squirming into Derek’s touch. There was no way this was really happening, no way.

“And _this_.” Derek gripped the lapels of Stiles’s flannel and tugged, the way Stiles had earlier, fruitlessly trying to get the sides to meet. “Why would you _wear_ this?”

Derek sounded wrecked, and Stiles wasn’t much better off. He couldn’t process what was happening, it seemed too bizarre, too much like something out of his fantasies. The more recent ones. The ones where Derek was into Stiles’s fat just as much as he was into Derek’s.

“I don’t…” Stiles licked his lips, looked up into Derek’s eyes and said, “I don’t have anything that fits me better, right now.”

Derek’s gaze went unfocused. “You. Really?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, voice coming out deep and husky. “Really.”

“Jesus.” He closed his eyes for a moment, not getting any closer, just standing there with his hands fisted in Stiles’s shirt

“And you, uh.” Stiles took a slow, shaky breath. “You like that, I take it?”

“...I like it.”

“Oh,” Stiles breathed. He _liked_ it, and that meant. Fuck, that meant this whole time, Derek _had_ been into this. Stiles felt a laugh threaten to bubble up from his gut. He tried to contain it, but couldn’t quite suppress the smile on his face. “And why’s that?” he said.

Derek blinked open his eyes to level him with a glare. “Why do you think?”

“Um,” Stiles hummed, mock-thoughtfully, and took a step into Derek’s space. “Because it shows off my hot bod?”

Derek grit his teeth. “That’s part of it.”

“What’s the other part?” He took Derek’s hands, placed them on the sides of Stiles’s belly, and Derek’s face went slack with want. “ _Tell me_.”

Derek kissed him, quick and dirty, then mouthed at Stiles’s softened jawline until his lips were against Stiles’s ear. “Because it lets me see how fat you’ve gotten.”

“Ah, god.” Stiles felt helpless, overwhelmed by how soft, how massive Derek felt wrapped around him, how their bodies felt against each other. “Still not as fat as you, though. Oh my god, you feel so _big_.”

“You only have yourself to blame for that.”

“Fuck.” Stiles pushed against Derek’s chest, leading him around the counter so they could get into the back room, and almost got distracted again by the feeling of Derek’s breasts in his hands. “‘S much as I’d like to take the credit for all this, it’s not really _my_ fault you’ve become such a _glutton_ , now is it?”

For a second, Stiles thought he might have gone too far. Too much, too soon, but Derek’s eyes were burning with intensity, green swallowed up by the black of his pupils. “Isn’t it?” he said.

“Nah.” Stiles backed Derek into the swinging door that led to the kitchen. He fumbled for the light switch and said, “Think it’s been in you the whole time.” He pinched at the rolls of fat that wrapped around Derek’s sides, right underneath his breasts.

Derek gasped. “I don’t know, Stiles. You can be very persuasive.”

“Yeah. And I love persuading you.” Stiles’s head was swimming and his mouth got away from him in the face of a situation straight out of his wet dreams. “Because you’re just so _greedy,_ Derek. Like all you want to do is eat and you don’t care how fat you get.”

Derek grinned. He pushed his gut into Stiles’s and they bounced against each other. “You care though, don’t you? Correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems like you’re kind of into it.”

Stiles shivered and licked his lips, torn between kissing that smug expression right off of Derek’s face and hearing him keep talking. He poked the edge of his own stomach and then Derek’s, keeping his finger sunk into that perfect, doughy belly. “Pot, kettle. And don’t think I don’t see right through that shit you pulled at my barbecue, now.”

“Jesus, Stiles, can you even blame me? You just kept going no matter what I put in front of you.”

“Yeah.” Stiles shuddered, grasping at whatever part of Derek he could reach. “Couldn’t help it.”

“You would’ve eaten more if I asked you to, wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck, I. I don’t think I could have, but I wanted to. It was.. god, it felt…”

“I know,” Derek breathed against his lips.

Stiles kissed him and it felt the electricity of it in his bones, crackling across his skin. He felt every heated inch of their bodies press together, the way Derek’s blubbery belly felt against him. And there was something about doing this at the bakery of all places that made Stiles’s pulse race.

He knew what it was as soon as he thought about it. It was weird, probably. Too weird for a first time, but it kind of felt like it was where they were headed all along. Like a natural progression. And he didn’t want to wait for it, anymore, or ease into it. He just _wanted_.

Stiles pulled back from the kiss, panting, and said, “How about right now, Derek? Are you hungry?”

Derek raised his eyebrows, looking caught off guard for just long enough that Stiles started to doubt, but then he said, “I could eat.”

Stiles watched him, analyzing, trying to read his face and not to get too distracted by the feeling of Derek’s body in his hands. “Can I feed you?” he whispered.

Derek’s expression cracked open. He clutched Stiles tighter and said, “Yeah. Yeah.”

Stiles kissed him, sucked on Derek’s bottom lip and pulled back too soon in his eagerness to get started. He led Derek over to one of the rolly chairs he used when he was decorating. “C’mon, sit down, I’m gonna get something, just. Stay here a second, okay?”

“Donuts,” Derek said. “I could really go for some donuts.”

He sat down and wiggled his butt to get comfy, and Stiles barely had the brain function to say, “Yeah. Donuts, coming right up.”

He dashed across the room to the fridge where they kept the leftovers they were going to sell at half price the next day. He grabbed whatever he could find, not even bothering to check for flavors, and, armed with half a dozen donuts, he made his way back over to Derek.

Derek smirked and licked his lips, spread his thighs so Stiles could stand between them. Stiles put the donuts down on the table behind Derek, except one. That one, he brought to Derek’s lips.

Stiles’s heart was in his throat, but Derek didn’t hesitate. He took a big, messy bite, getting chocolate frosting all over his lips, and another, and another. Stiles’s cock ached just watching him, how greedy he was, even after all he’d eaten that day. He let the fingers of his opposite hand linger, just the slightest bit of pressure on the top of Derek’s gut.

It was dizzying, being the one to actually _feed_ him, with his own hands, watching bite after bite disappear into Derek’s belly, his lips getting closer and closer to Stiles’s fingers as he swallowed it down. He sucked Stiles’s chocolate-covered fingers into his mouth, when he’d finished, and Stiles moaned, helplessly inching closer so his belly was resting right on top of Derek’s. Derek methodically licked him clean, to tease as much as lick up every last drop of his meal, Stiles was sure of it.

He was shaking, fingers twitching on Derek’s tongue, his other hand gripping handfuls of fat in an uncoordinated display of desperation that Stiles couldn’t quite manage to control. When Derek finished, Stiles leaned down to kiss the frosting off his lips.

He crawled into Derek’s lap, straddling his thighs. The chair creaked under their combined weight, but Stiles had more important things to worry about. Like the feeling of Derek’s gut settled between his thighs and the way his fingers dug harshly into Stiles’s ass, and the way his mouth tasted like chocolate.

He was grinding against him in helpless little thrusts, not enough leverage for more and he whined when Derek pulled back from the kiss. “Your turn,” Derek said.

“My wha--” Derek reached behind him and picked up a donut, pink frosted with sprinkles. Stiles gasped. “Oh, my turn. Okay, yeah.”

He leaned in to take a bite out of it, probably a little too enthusiastic. Sprinkles rained down on them, sticking to the wet fabric of their shirts. Stiles couldn’t stay still. His hips were still rocking against Derek’s, the hard line of his cock nudging Stiles’s balls while his own was enveloped by Derek’s gut. Derek’s other hand was rubbing hard circles into the bloated fullness in Stiles’s stomach.

Stiles ate and ate, insatiable in the face of Derek’s insistence that he keep eating. There was barely even a pause between Stiles’s last bite of the first one and Derek pressing a new glazed donut to his lips, and Stiles didn't hesitate either.

“That’s it,” Derek said, “Keep eating, Stiles.”

Stiles hummed an affirmative noise with his mouth full of pastry. Derek’s hands on him felt as good as they had the first time: just as intoxicating. He was hot all over, probably flushed all the way down his chest.

When Derek picked up a third donut, Stiles groaned, needy. He chased it before Derek could even bring it near his face. Stiles closed his eyes and devoured, hyper-focused on the taste and the feeling of his belly swelling under Derek’s hands.

He took the last bite and Derek reached back for another donut, and although Stiles almost _wanted_ it, he grabbed Derek’s wrist and dragged it back to his gut. He hiccuped, overfull, and said, “You’re very distracting.”

Derek grinned, pulled up the hem of Stiles’s t-shirt until it rested right above his belly, started pawing at his bare skin, and Stiles shuddered. “Fuck.”

He shucked out of his plaid and threw it on the floor with a wet splat, and dove for Derek’s mouth, kissing him in a frenzy of tongue and teeth. With his belly stuffed, the pressure was so incredible when he leaned into Derek that he almost lost himself to the feeling before he remembered that he’d had a goal.

Blindly, he grabbed for a donut and when he pulled back from the kiss, he immediately replaced his own mouth with the pastry at Derek’s lips. Derek didn’t even crack his eyes open, just opened wide and took whatever Stiles gave him. He groaned at the pressure of Stiles’s hands, rubbing at his belly like Derek had done to him.

“You can eat so much more than this, can’t you?” Stiles said. “Could you eat a full dozen, if you weren’t already so stuffed?”

Derek groaned through his mouthful and Stiles chose to take that as agreement. “Yeah. Of course you could.” The evidence of how much he could eat was heavy in Stiles’s lap. He traced his fingers over the gaudy blue ribbon at Derek’s breast. Suddenly, he was overcome with the need to know _exactly_ how much bigger all that indulgence made him.

Stiles held the donut out of reach, rubbing Derek’s belly. Derek furrowed his brow and his eyes fluttered open.

“That first time you came here,” Stiles said, voice unrecognizably deep, “When you were on a diet and just ate one measly donut instead of a dozen all by yourself... How much did you weigh, Derek? Two-hundred? Two-ten?”

Derek smirked. “About two-hundred.”

“Fuck, Derek. You really gained seventy pounds since then? It’s only been a _year_.”

“ _Sixty-nine_.”

Stiles snorted. “Don’t be pedantic. _Sixty-nine_ is still plenty. Anyway, you’ll be _well_ over that by the time I’m done with you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Derek leaned closer to Stiles’s hand, the one still holding the half-eaten donut, as if he was about to take a bite and said, “You plan on fattening me up, Stiles?”

Sties held it further away and used his other hand to push Derek flat against the back of the chair. “I’ll think about it. On one condition.” He took a bite of the donut himself and said through a mouthful, “You return the favor.”

Derek’s eyes were heavy-lidded and he licked his lips. “Deal.”

“Great, now that we’ve got that settled…” Stiles shoved the last bit of donut in Derek’s mouth, a big enough chunk that Derek’s cheeks pushed out with the effort of trying to chew it.

He slid out of Derek’s lap and down to his knees on the floor between his massive thighs. Stiles lifted up the hem of his shirt, pushing up until Derek got the hint and pulled it all the way off. It was nothing short of mesmerizing, the way the fabric clung to Derek’s body, making him jiggle all over as he ripped it off, again as he resettled back in the chair.

There was some animalistic sound caught deep in Stiles’s throat and he said, “God. I’ve been wanting to see this view all day.”

It sounded like Derek wanted to say something, but his mouth was still too full of pastry. Both of Stiles’s hands gripped big handfuls of Derek’s belly and shook it to watch how it moved. “Fuck, that’s gorgeous.” He ran both thumbs over the doughy flesh surrounding Derek’s deep belly button, followed it with his lips. “Fuck.” He felt incredible against Stiles’s face. Hot and yielding. “So soft,” he murmured against Derek’s skin.

“All two-hundred and sixty-nine pounds of you stuffed full of pie.” He kissed Derek’s belly, “Cotton candy,” punctuated every word with kisses until his face was nestled against his supple lower belly. “Pizza and… and pretzels. Fried candy. _Donuts_.”

He drew his face back to look up at Derek, who was staring at him, eyes dark and lips parted, dragging in deep, shaky breaths. “I can feel it, you know,” Stiles said, his hands framing Derek’s full stomach, hard underneath the layer of cushiony fat on top. “All of it. Right here.”

“What can I say? You’re a bad influence.”

“Thousands and thousands of calories worth of bad influence. Just think how fat that’s gonna make you.”

“ _Very_ ,” Derek said.

“I like the sound of that. Keep eating, Deputy.”

Stiles licked into Derek’s belly button, giving him a wet, filthy kiss. He kept his eyes open so he could watch Derek inhale that last donut. It was incredible, even worth the crumbs that scattered down Derek’s belly onto his face, because Derek looked so blissed out Stiles could hardly take it.

He took both hands and gripped Derek’s lower belly, squeezing hard enough to make Derek let out a cry. The feeling of all that fat squishing around Stiles’s face was nothing short of _transcendent_.

Stiles dragged his fingers along the waistband of Derek’s jeans, where it cut into the pudge at his hips. When he reached the button, he looked up and said, “Can I?”

Derek nodded and made a sound with his mouth full. Stiles smirked. “Sorry, what was that, big guy?”

Derek rolled his eyes and chewed through the mouthful to say, “ _Yes_.”

Stiles tugged the sides of Derek’s fly together to undo the button and let the zipper fall down. It took some strength, not least of all because Derek didn’t help him in the slightest, just kept eating, stomach swollen in his lap, the picture of gluttony.

Stiles rolled Derek’s cock in his palm and said, “Sit up.”

Derek didn’t pause his eating, just raised his hips off the chair enough for Stiles to tug down his jeans and underwear in one. Stiles took his cock in his hand, ran his fingers gently against it, and his lips were drawn again to Derek’s belly.

Stiles had meant to blow him, actually, but he couldn’t bear to take his mouth off of Derek’s fat gut long enough to do it. It felt so perfect on his tongue, like it belonged there. So he used his hand, swift and sure while he sucked, instead, on Derek’s fleshy underbelly. But from the way Derek sounded, Stiles was pretty sure he didn’t mind.

“Stiles,” he said, “Fuck.”

He had run out of donuts, and the way he licked his own fingers clean of every drop of frosting and glaze made Stiles writhe, desperate to touch himself. But his fingers were too busy touching Derek. Stiles _never_ wanted to stop touching Derek.

He sucked a big mouthful of Derek’s belly fat into his mouth, probably hard enough to leave a mark, and Derek’s hips twitched, pushing that fat gut harder into Stiles’s face. Stiles couldn’t help himself. He he bit down on Derek’s skin, as gently as he could manage, circled his thumb around the head of his dick, and suddenly Derek was coming with a groan that sounded dragged out of him.

Stiles raised his head up to watch him come. To see how Derek’s face went slack and open, how he shook and panted for breath. “You’re beautiful. God, Derek.”

He was palming his own dick and licking the mess off Derek’s belly when Derek said, “Get up. I need to suck you off.”

Stiles’s lips slid off Derek’s skin with a loud pop. “Um, fuck, okay. No arguments, here.”

Stiles clambered up to his feet, watched Derek heave himself up from the chair. Derek backed him against the wall and kissed him, deep and thorough. Stiles felt dazed after it, swaying, and he felt like he might collapse if Derek weren’t holding him up.

“Jesus, Stiles. Your mouth.”

“ _Your_ mouth,” Stiles said, because his brain was offline and his lips were tingling.

Derek spread his palm over Stiles’s belly like he was testing its size. He was looking at it, intently, and Stiles felt exposed with nothing to do with his mouth or his hands but bite his own lips and grasp uselessly at Derek’s shoulders.

“And you say _I’m_ getting fat. You should see yourself,” Derek said.

He moved his hand up and down, shaking Stiles’s belly so he could feel every ripple of it and something tugged in Stiles’s gut. He arched into it, needy. “Ahh, _shit_ , why does that feel so good?” Derek grabbed his lower belly and shook it hard. “Oh god, keep--ah!”

Derek slowed down enough that Stiles felt like he could almost think again, started rubbing his belly in easy circles. “If I had known you’d be this responsive, I would’ve done this a long time ago,” Derek said.

“Why the fuck didn’t you? Oh my god. After the barbecue. You had to know how much I wanted it. _Derek_.”

“I wanted to. God, Stiles, the way you _looked_.”

Stiles sighed into Derek’s touch. “What, like a beached whale?”

Derek laughed, breathlessly. “Beached whale is a good look on you.”

“Right back at you,” Stiles snorted.

Derek patted Stiles’s gut, finishing him off with a light smack before sinking to his knees.

“ _Shit_ ,” Stiles said.

Derek licked into Stiles’s belly button, nibbling a path down his happy trail and settling at the waistband of Stiles’s jeans. No fucking _wonder_ Derek looked like he was dazed with pleasure while Stiles was doing this, it was fucking _amazing_. Stiles was writhing under that tongue, making noises he had no hope of biting back.

Derek was slow about it, sucking on Stiles’s fat with all the patience Stiles was absolutely out of. He seemed like he’d be happy to tease the hell out of Stiles for hours if he could, and while Stiles would have been all the way on board any other time, at that point, he felt like Derek had _already_ been teasing him for hours.

“God, _please_.”

Derek stroked his fingers too lightly over the hard outline of Stiles’s cock through his jeans before he even bothered to open them. Stiles even helpfully sucked in, so it’d be easier to pop the button, no matter how strained they were because all the treats in Stiles’s stomach, but Derek still took his sweet time inching the waistband of Stiles’s boxers over his dick and jiggling Stiles’s fat. Stiles was going out of his mind wanting something, anything.

“Derek, _fuck_ , I swear to god. Please, I need--”

Derek wrapped his lips around Stiles and sucked him down and suddenly Stiles was unsure of his own name. “Oh my god,” he sighed.

Stiles fisted his hand in Derek’s hair, and Derek used his to hold onto Stiles’s belly, to shake it and knead it and Stiles had never felt _anything_ so completely brain melting in all his life. Derek wrapped his cock in searing, wet heat. Distantly, he noted that he was moaning, loud and ridiculous, but the sounds were wrenched from his gut as Derek sucked his soul out of his dick while rolling his belly in his hands and he couldn’t have stopped if he tried.

“Holy shit, oh my _god_ , Derek.” He couldn’t last. Even if the last few hours hadn’t kept him near-constantly on edge, Derek’s mouth felt like the best thing that ever happened to him, and he was hurtling towards that edge _embarrassingly_ fast. “Ah _, fuck_. I’m gonna,” he slurred, gripping Derek’s hair tight, “‘M gonna.”

Derek kept going. He did something with his tongue that had Stiles’s eyes rolling back in his head and he fought the urge to grind his hips into Derek’s hand on his belly and then he was coming with a shout, the hot rush of it overwhelming him.

Stiles was panting. He probably concussed himself on the wall behind him, but he did not give one single fuck about that because he was tingling all over, boneless and sated in a way he couldn’t ever remember being after sex before.

“Fuck me,” he whispered.

 

Stiles and Derek were leaning against one of the prep tables, sharing leftover slices of cheesecake, and Stiles couldn’t keep the smile off his face or stop himself from staring at Derek. He might have still been in shock.

“So like just to clarify,” Stiles said, “You invited me to the pie eating contest because you wanted to _seduce_ me? Is that a thing that happened?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “That’s what I was hoping for, yeah.”

“You _weirdo_. I knew it. You are such a tease, oh my god, you’re the _worst_. How did you know? Do I give off vibes? Did you talk to Scott? Oh my god, please tell me you didn’t talk to Scott.”

“No, I--” Derek let out an irritated sigh. “Call it a gut feeling, I guess.”

“Wow, really? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Jesus Christ, I didn’t--you kind of do give off vibes, you’re not exactly subtle. I extrapolated.”

“You extrapolated. So you figured, ‘hey, this guy seems to like giving me food an awful lot,’” Stiles imitates in a gruff voice. “‘I should probably invite him to watch me eat an _alarmingly large_ amount of food in a public place instead of just like, asking him on a date or something. That makes sense.’”

“I don’t sound like that--”

“You do--”

“Well it worked, didn’t it? You liked it.”

“Of _course_ I fucking liked it, that’s not the point.”

“Yeah? And what’s the point?”

“The point is…” Stiles pointed his fork at him. “You _suck_. And you should get dinner with me. Like, as a date, if that wasn’t clear.”

Derek smiled. Not wide enough to show his teeth, just a small, pleased thing that made Stiles’s heart beat double time. No big deal. “What--now?” Derek said.

“Hell yeah, dude.” Stiles’s stomach groaned. “Okay, maybe in like an hour. We’ve both got some bargains to keep up, if you know what I mean.” Stiles waggled his eyebrows and looked down at Derek’s belly, meaningfully.

Derek hummed and took a bite of cheesecake, taking his time to chew it all the way through before saying, “Guess I could be up for that.”

“Yeah?!”

“Yeah, Stiles.” He rolled his eyes, losing the fight to keep the smile from taking over his face. “I’d like that.”

Stiles grinned harder than he had in a long, long time. Through a mouthful of cheesecake he said, “Awesome.” He leaned back to pat his bare belly, putting himself on display so he could savor the look on Derek’s face as he did. “We’re gonna get so fat, Derek.”

Derek leaned in to press his lips against Stiles's. "Pretty sure we're already fat," he said.

"Fine." Stiles laughed into Derek's kisses. "Fatt _er_."

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on the tumblrs [@chubstilinski](http://www.chubstilinski.tumblr.com)


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